


Thirty Days of Prompts

by Tashlen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: 30 day challenge, F/F, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Late Night Writing, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fic, Slice of Life, Talk of the Quinncident, Tumblr Prompt, Varied POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:59:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 30,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashlen/pseuds/Tashlen
Summary: I have been needing a little hiatus and time to focus on less demanding writing, as much as I hate to admit it. I'm not stopping work on Damages, but I need to slow down a little bit.So I decided to try to do a thirty day challenge posted by someone on my Tumblr list, to keep myself focused and working outside the box and exploring some ideas I've been sitting on for a while. ;) This is an OTP challenge, but I'm not going to always stick exactly to that.They are going up first on my Tumblr (cavalier-life), and then I'll post them here.I'm going to do my best to be sure to get through the list. Let me know what you like and what you don't like! :)





	1. Home Planet (Arcann)

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be altered as I go.. I have no idea what will be in here yet. ;)

He had grown up on another planet. One not far away from the one he lived on now. A planet called Zakuul.

It had been an intensely difficult childhood, though it had not often occurred to him at the time to question it. For years, he’d just accepted the way things were, accepted what he’d been raised to believe. Then he’d looked into the eyes of the woman who had come into his life without warning and upended everything. She’d destroyed his plans, ended his reign, decimated his power base, and stripped him of everything that he’d believed he needed. And then, instead of destroying him too; instead of finishing what he’d thought she meant to do, she chose to accept him into her own, strange little family.

He’d never realized until that day how mercy could feel when offered to a person who was unaccustomed to receiving it, by someone who did not often give it. She was not merciful by nature; she was ferocious. Powerful. He’d seen her will to fight in her eyes the first time he’d seen her, when she was captive on his shuttle, chained. Prepared to do anything to win her freedom. He was envious of her certainty, her defiance. His defiance had never earned him what he’d wanted from his father. All of the bruises, beatings, broken bones, and humiliations had brought him nothing but failure. He’d failed to be the son his father had wanted. Failed to lead his people. Failed to trust in his mother’s love. Failed to help his sister. And failed to protect his brother, his beloved twin.

It had seemed like everything he’d ever wanted was gone forever. That it’d all slipped through the grasp of his fingers; the fingers of which only five now were the ones that he’d had when he was born. She held out her hand to him in mercy that day on Voss. She’d offered him an opening, but he hadn’t taken it. He’d seen his father beside her, and assumed the worst of her motives. He hadn’t understood what she was trying to give him in that moment, and it’d taken him a while to understand his mistake.

When he’d seen her again, on the rooftop, she’d offered him a place with her people one more time. He’d looked into her eyes, and had seen that she would not extend the same offer again. But this time, he’d swallowed the pride he’d been raised to wear like armor around his fractured heart and soul. He’d knelt to her, and pledged his loyalty.

He was still proving himself to the Alliance, and perhaps he always would be. But she had accepted him, and shown him unexpected mercy. Then she had shown him what it was to be loved for exactly who he was, without restraint and without reservation. Odessen was the planetary home of the Alliance she’d built with her people, and he had discovered happiness here, and a place that he belonged.

When he turned his head and looked at her where she stood at his side, with both of them looking from the windows of her throne room into the verdant beauty of Odessen, Arcann knew the truth.

He had grown up on another planet. One not far away from the one he lived on now. A planet called Zakuul.

But it was not his home.

She was.


	2. Alien Language (Melisande/Darth Nox)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisande (Darth Nox): The Early Years

Loss, desperation, and hunger punctuate her days. That is the only language that Melisande understands. She is a slave, and no one speaks to her with gentleness. No one is patient with her. Undersized and starving, she is beaten severely when she falls. She’s beaten if she is slow completing her tasks. She is beaten for no offense at all, just because she was within reach when someone powerful became angry.

She learns to make herself even smaller, to become fierce in defense of the small amount of food she receives. Melisande becomes dangerous, and the other slaves know to avoid her and give her a wide berth, because she will steal from them in an instant.

Her will to live keeps her going, but it earns her the scars that crawl like vines up her hands to her elbows, scars that she will wear for the rest of her life. Working in the beast pens is exhausting work, and the animals are vicious. Melisande spills a bucket full of waste on the ground, and the overseer is watching. Taking up a lash used to keep the beasts in line, he descends upon the fallen girl, striking her violently. She puts up her hands to protect herself, but the attempt at defense only enrages him. He keeps hitting her, again and again, until her arms and hands are torn and bleeding, the skin lacerated nearly to the bone. The pain is so excruciating that she begins to scream, and the overseer swings harder, hoping to shut her up, to silence her. She will learn her place, he tells her, bellowing over her cries.

Instead, she feels a bottomless rage welling up in her like nothing she has ever experienced before. It feels like a living thing, filling every inch of her starving, undersized body, pressing to get out. The lash falls, and her next scream turns into a roar, a violent burst of power that flings the overseer away, smashing him into the bars of one of the cages. A massive, wild tuk'ata seizes the man in its claws, the vast jaws sinking into flesh, tearing at him. She stares into the creature’s tiny furious eyes, feeling a connection with it, feeling its pleasure at her rage. Extending her bleeding, ruined arms, she spreads her torn fingers towards the overseer, and purple lightning crackles from her fingertips, electrocuting the overseer until he sags in the tuk'ata’s oversized fangs, dead. 

The stench of his smoking body is something that she never will forget, because to her, it smells like freedom.

When they come for her, it is not to kill her, as she’d expected. Instead, they take her to the Academy. They tell her that she will be trained. She will be a Sith if she survives. And suddenly, instead of no language, she has many. They teach her to read, to write. She learns the Sith code first, and embraces it. She learns runes, and alchemy, and ancient languages and how to translate them accurately. She learns to fight, to defend herself, and she learns that she can trust no one. 

The overseer, Harkun, makes no attempt to hide his loathing for her. He calls her ‘slave’, and belittles her at every turn. But Melisande doesn’t care anymore.

He cannot make her afraid. He cannot take this new world from her with his hatred and pettiness. He cannot take away the new, alien language of power and freedom. She has it inside of herself, and she will never let it go again.


	3. Morning After (Lyorek/Jaxan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyorek fails to make a timely escape. The first of many.

It was difficult to mark mornings on Odessen sometimes, when one’s room was underground and lacked an external window. But Lyorek had an internal timer that he’d always considered his get out of relationships free card, and it woke him early on the morning after and told him to get out of the strange bed he’d slept in all night. The blonde man sleeping next to him was enticingly warm, and his arm was wrapped around Lyo’s stomach, and some part of the Inquisitor’s mind whispered that maybe this time… he should stay.

And that was a -terrible- idea, for so many reasons.

He gently slid Jaxan’s arm off his midsection so he could leave, laying it on the bed beside him. The other man didn’t move or stir, his lean frame sprawled comfortably beneath the sheet. Easing off the bed, Lyorek got to his feet, putting on his clothing as he found each piece. Pulling his robe around his shoulders, one arm through the sleeve and the other out, the Zabrak picked up his saber hilt from the floor, clipping it to his belt with care. Jaxan was a heavy sleeper, but even so, he didn’t want to risk waking him while he was making his exit. It was easier if they slept through it, and he was just gone when they opened their eyes. There were less questions, less chances for his lovers to try to convince him to stay.

Jaxan shifted in the bed, curling around the warm spot left behind by Lyo’s departure, pulling his abandoned pillow into his arms. The Jedi’s face relaxed as he buried his face in the pillow, breathing evenly. Lyorek stood still, watching him, slowly sliding his arm into the empty sleeve of his dark robe and pulling it around himself. Against his own common sense, he found himself moving towards the bed, closing the distance between him and the sleeping human.

Jaxan had a way about him; a magnetic sort of sweetness that everyone in the Alliance had quickly grown fond of and appreciated. Darth Nox, prickly and angry creature that she was, had begrudgingly accepted the Jedi’s presence once she’d learned that he had some skill in translation. She hated his relentless cheer and resilient smile, but she still allowed him to help her in her office with her work, and was less snippy with him than she was with nearly everyone else. Astonishingly, even Nox’s annoyingly aggressive gizkas liked the young Jedi. He had that effect on people (and gizkas, apparently) – it was just impossible to be angry with him, or mean to him. It was like he had an aura of serenity around him.

Lyorek could feel the pull of it right now, that sensation that he could just lie down again, let Jaxan pull him into his arms like he was holding that pillow, and forget about leaving. It was a ridiculous idea. He didn’t want a relationship, not even with Jaxan. Yes, his sweetness was enticing to him. It was like a puzzle that he wanted to unlock, to find out how to see inside, find out what else lived behind the gentle, dark eyes. He knew there was more there. Or maybe he just wanted to see what it was like to be someone like Jaxan.

That uncomfortable thought was the one that he’d needed. Lyorek backed away from the bed, turning on his heel and going to the door. His hand hovered over the door pad, millimeters from activating it and opening the door panel, so he could leave. All he had to do was touch it, and he could be gone back to his own chamber, his privacy, his space. Jaxan was a pleasant diversion, but that was all he was to the Inquisitor, just a distraction. Just a pleasant night spent in the arms of someone who saw someone worth knowing when he looked at him. But whatever Jaxan saw in him, it wasn’t real. It was an illusion, like so many things about Lyorek. If he ever saw the reality..

“Lyo?”

Lyorek froze, trying to force himself to hit the door panel. Open it. GO.

“Don’t go just yet. Please? It’s early still.. come back to bed.”

His hand dropped to his side. Glancing over his shoulder, Lyorek saw that Jaxan had pulled the covers back in invitation, and the glorious view of an expanse of golden-tan skin on display, framed by crisp white sheets, ended his final thoughts of escape.

He could always leave later. 

Much later.


	4. Surprising/Hidden Talent (Selirah/Arcann)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann shares a something new with Selirah while they're alone.
> 
> For any new readers: 
> 
> Language note:   
> "Keella" is Twi'leki/Ryl for "darling", though to Selirah it's more of an affectionate pet name at this point.

Sinking deeper into the steaming water, Selirah closed her eyes, trying to shut out everything about today for a while so she could relax. Nothing had gone right today from the first meeting of the day. Everyone was out of sorts, and snapping at each other over the smallest perceived slight. Teams that had been working well together were so dysfunctional suddenly that several missions had not only failed, but done so in a nearly catastrophic way. By the time she’d gotten back to her room, she felt so sick of every single person in the base that she just wanted to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

She’d drawn a bath, a luxury that she rarely allowed herself -or- had time to enjoy properly, and closed the door to the room. Turning the lights low, she’d immersed herself, letting the water wash away the stresses of the day and humming idly to listen to the sound bounce off the walls. If tomorrow wasn’t a -lot- better, she’d have to find a new, more drastic way of unwinding.

“Seli.. are you busy?”

Cracking open one violet eye, Selirah tried not to sigh audibly or in any other way let the owner of the rumbling baritone outside the door realize that she was less than thrilled to have -anyone- interrupt her alone time, even him. “That depends. Is this about the Alliance, or just you looking for me?” she said finally, pitching her voice at a volume to be heard through the door.

“It can wait. I know it’s been a trying day.”

Guilt curled through her at the faint note of patient resignation she could hear in his voice, the tips of her lekku twitching in embarrassment at her ungracious words, and she relented before he could take more than a step away from the door. “Come in, keella. I was only teasing. I would love your company.”

Arcann opened the door, hooking a nearby stool with one booted foot and sliding it over by the bathtub. He sank down on it, leaning his right arm on the lip of the basin, pale blue eyes taking a leisurely look over her crimson body through the water. A faint, half-smile touched the unscarred side of his mouth, and Selirah rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, tucking one hand behind her neck. “I really can wait until later, if you would prefer to be alone,” he told her, and she flicked water at him with the end of her tchun in response.

“Stop.” Nearly up to her lower lip in the water at present, Selirah regarded him sternly, or what she greatly hoped was coming across to him as sternly. It was not an easy thing generally to strike the right authoritative note when one was naked in the bathtub, and from the amused look in Arcann’s eyes, she had missed the mark substantially. “I wouldn’t have asked you to join me if that was the case.”

“I heard you singing before I spoke to you. Feeling better about today?” She made a face, and he picked up the cloth hanging over the side of the tub, wetting it in the water and wringing out the excess before applying her favorite soap to the soft, well-worn square. Selirah watched these preparations silently, and then leaned forward without needing to be asked, both lekku sliding past the curve of her upper arms to lie in front of her shoulders. “It was a difficult day, Seli, but it was no one’s fault. Everyone is tired, and it’s affecting them all. And I can feel how exhausted you’ve been.”

Arcann laid the cloth on her shoulder, and as he began washing her back, she laid her arms across her knees and rested her chin on her forearms, closing her eyes. The sensation was vastly soothing, and for the first time since he’d spoken to her from outside the door, Selirah was glad that he was here, with no reservations. “It’s frustrating. I want things to run smoothly, but it seems like we never can quite get there. It’s always something.”

“You take too much on yourself. From what others have told me, you always have.” Arcann’s voice was low and quiet, and she felt her shoulders and back relaxing under his ministrations, the cloth gliding smoothly over the sharp, geometric lines of her black tattoos as they tangled down her back. More than once, Selirah felt his fingers tracing the marks; in one case, resting with a light touch over the circular scar that he had given her on Asylum. She could feel the deep shame that always engulfed him when he was faced with the evidence of the harm he’d caused touch his thoughts as his fingers lingered on the lightsaber scar, and she turned to glance back at him.

“So do you. It’s just a scar, and we both have them. It’s the past, keella, and it’s not who you are anymore.” She reached out to him, taking his hand in hers, and brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss across his knuckles. The prince’s eyes lifted to meet hers, and after a moment, he reluctantly nodded.

“It’s a difficult weight to put aside. I know I’ll never truly be able to make amends for all of my transgressions. There are people in the Alliance that will never forgive me for the things I did, and I cannot even say that they are wrong to feel the way they do.”

Rather than address his point, knowing there was nothing that she could say to remove the sting of the reality that faced him, Selirah laid her cheek against the back of his hand, letting him sense the affection and trust that she felt for him. “Let’s try to put aside everything that is troubling us for a little while, then. Both of us. Why don’t you join me?”

The gamble paid off in another brief, small smile from him, and he gave his answer by removing his boots, and undressing with deliberate and gratifying haste. Selirah slid forward, making room for him behind her, and the water sloshed around them both as he stepped into the tub, slipping down into the warmth and pulling her back against his chest, his left arm resting on the lip of the bath. Selirah leaned her head back against his right shoulder, closing her eyes. “What were you humming earlier? I heard you when I got to the door,” he asked curiously.

“Just a little tune that I remember from childhood.. I don’t recall all of the words, so I couldn’t sing it for you, I’m afraid.” She relaxed, Arcann’s hand resting on her stomach, fingers lazily stroking her wet skin. “Your mother has a beautiful singing voice,” she added.

His fingers stopped, and she could hear the wariness in his voice when he answered. “Yes, she always did. She sang to us, when we were children. What made you think about that?”

It dawned upon her that perhaps this wasn’t the _ideal_ time to have brought up his mother, given their mutual nakedness. It was, upon further reflection, definitely a mood killer of a remark. But the nexu was firmly out of the bag now, so she forged ahead anyway. “Do you sing, too? I’ve never heard you so much as hum even one of the disturbingly hard to forget dirty songs that Gault likes to sing after he’s fooled a table full of people out of their credits. I didn’t think it was possible to avoid getting those songs stuck in your head. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

The attempt at levity worked, at least; Arcann was startled into laughing, and she could feel him relax again behind her, his hand stroking over the flat plane of her stomach. “They do get caught in my head, too,” he admitted with good humor, the unscarred side of his cheek resting against the side of her head. “And.. yes, I suppose I can. I don’t. At least, not often. I’m not sure I can remember the last time I felt like singing.”

Selirah waited, but he didn’t say any more. She could nearly feel him thinking about it, trying to recall the song, the occasion, anything about that previous, long-forgotten moment. For a time, it seemed as if he wouldn’t speak of it again, and she wasn’t sure that it would be wise to push on something that seemed like another painful emotional wound. Then he said quietly, “I could sing a song that I remember her singing to us. For you.” There was no way to mistake the offer for anything other than an enormous act of trust for him; and in lieu of speaking, Selirah turned her head and kissed him when he looked at her.

All of the aggravations and stresses of the day melted away like smoke moments later, when Arcann started with a melancholy song about Scyva, his voice full and true. She could feel the baritone rumble of each note, and without glancing back at him, or giving him a reason to feel self-conscious, the Twi'lek simply closed her eyes again, and let herself enjoy the glimpse of hidden talent that she’d been offered as a gift.


	5. First Time (Quinn/Selirah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn remembers some unhappy milestones. (Post-Quinncident)

Quinn had never considered himself to be an emotional person.

But since his … transgression…

No, it was well past the time for honesty, even if it was only to himself. Betrayal.

Since his betrayal, it had been harder to suppress his feelings. Every time he thought about that day, all he could see was the look in her eyes the moment she’d realized he was there to kill her. That slow descent from disbelief, into shock, and for a moment, just a moment before the rage had turned her trust to ash, he’d seen naked pain and a crushing sadness written large in the violet eyes that he loved so much.

It sickened him to know that he’d destroyed both of their lives. He’d allowed his loyalty to Baras to overwhelm his sense of self, and worse, he’d known better on some level. Somewhere deep inside, while he was sending his reports on her actions and building the assassin droids he’d used in his murder attempt, he’d known that he was doing the wrong thing. But he’d been so afraid of what would happen if he failed to obey Baras. He’d thought he would lose everything that he’d gained with Selirah, that she would never forgive him for spying on her, for informing on her since Balmorra.

What a stupid thing to be afraid of, when his betrayal was so much worse. Quinn closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he remembered the way she’d looked at him afterwards. Lying on the floor at her feet, completely at her mercy, he’d looked up into her eyes and there had been nothing in them. They were still the same amethyst shade, still startling against the black tattoos that surrounded them. But her eyes were empty, devoid of affection and completely lacking in the love that had been there when she’d left the ship. Her voice had been a shadow of itself as well, emotionless and mechanical.

At the time, in that one moment, he’d thought it couldn’t get worse. When he boarded the Fury, limping and ashamed, riddled with guilt and regret – her door had been closed to him for the first time in months, and Pierce had been waiting for him with a small crate full of his belongings in his meaty arms. The lieutenant had made no secret of his delight in Quinn’s fall from grace, and Selirah had wasted no time in making certain that it was obvious to Quinn that he had fallen extremely far indeed.

Exiled from her presence, from her room, from her bed; all those things he could have borne. They were a more than fair price, and he knew he deserved his eviction from her heart for what he’d done. But when she’d come into the crew quarters that night, clad only in some filmy slip made of black shimmersilk, and beckoned to Pierce instead of him, Quinn had felt the first moment of real fear.

Until then, he’d thought he could make up for what he’d done. She would understand the position he’d been in eventually, he told himself firmly. She would start to bend, would remember how much he loved her. She would forgive him. He could see it all in his mind when he closed his eyes, how he would find his way back into her good graces, earn her trust, and then her love. Selirah was his wife, she’d married him. She would not turn her back on him forever.

But one night with Pierce turned into four, and then a month. Quinn was still on the bottom rung in her attentions, and she only spoke to him when it was necessary. Even Pierce, that jumped-up, meat-headed soldier with delusions of his own importance, had begun to look at him with a clear hint of pity in his dark eyes, though it didn’t stop him from spending every night with her in her room in Quinn’s place.

He despaired of ever regaining a foothold with Selirah at all, much less any fraction of their former love. Then came Tython, and the mission there. A ridiculous, insane mission. Just the sort that she thrived upon. She asked him to join her, for the first time since before his attack upon her. He was with her again on the battlefield, and it was as if nothing was wrong between them. Covering her with his blaster fire, Quinn watched her slice through their enemies, an unstoppable black-clad warrior carrying a deep purple lightsaber. She was smiling as she fought, joking with him the way she once had, and the light of battle was in her violet eyes.

It gave him hope.

That feeling persisted through their battles on Tython, and their victory, though it was hard fought. She looked at him when they were heading to the shuttle, and he thought that he saw something in her face that looked like regret. They sat together on the shuttle, and on the way to the meeting with Darth Arkous, Selirah stopped the lift halfway down. Framed in lurid red light, she stepped close to him.

Quinn froze, afraid to stir and ruin the moment. He could smell smoke and blood on her armor and on her skin, and her brilliant eyes looked into his as though she were seeing inside his very thoughts. And perhaps she was, he realized. She was Sith, after all. He could hear her removing one of her heavy gloves, unfastening it and peeling it off, and then Selirah’s fingers cupped his chin to tilt his face down towards hers. 

It was easy to forget that she was not tall, until she was this close to him. They looked at each other in silence, and Quinn felt his heart beating so hard that he thought she must be able to hear it clearly. Releasing his chin, Selirah stepped back away from him after a tense moment, and he saw a quiet, resigned grief in her face that killed his fragile hope. It was the first time that he knew without any doubt that his betrayal had poisoned their relationship beyond healing, and the pain of it struck him cleanly in the heart. Quinn thought that moment was the worst he would ever endure.

Until he was with her on Manaan, after a disastrous mission under the seas in a hidden lab.

He saw Selirah talking animatedly with the cocky Republic SIS agent who had assisted in her narrow escape from Arkous’ lab. And Quinn slowly realized that her eyes weren’t empty anymore, but the blazing interest that he saw in them was no longer for him.


	6. Stargazing - (Jaxan/Lyorek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaxan gets an amazing surprise from Lyorek.

Jaxan followed his companion without complaint up the winding, rocky path, their boots scuffing in the pebbles and sliding dirt. It was getting late, and the sounds of the forest were beginning to change. In the twilight gloaming, Lyorek’s dark robes blended in seamlessly with the gathering night. The Inquisitor had barely spoken since they’d left the base; all he’d said was that there was something he wanted to show Jax, but that it was a hike to get there.

Lyo still was very difficult for Jaxan to read, even though he’d been here on Odessen for several weeks, now. He’d heard plenty of stories from other people in the Alliance, and he knew there was so much more to Lyorek than the portion of his personality that he allowed the Jedi to see. Jax realized he’d have to be patient. And he was ready to wait as long as he needed to, in order to let Lyorek bring down his defensive walls on his own time.

But this hike was starting to get -truly- tiresome, and there was no obvious end anywhere in sight.

“Are we almost there?” Jaxan asked, trying not to sound as if he were whining about something that had been Lyo’s idea in the first place. Lyorek slowed, and allowed him to catch up, and to his surprise, the Zabrak took his hand before he kept walking, keeping pace with Jax’s stride instead of traveling at his own, less forgiving pace.

“We are. I know it’s a long walk, and we’re sort of.. well, you’ll see. It’s worth it, Jax. I promise.” Lyorek’s smile flashed bright in the velvety darkness, and he activated a glow stick that had been tucked into his belt, lighting the path. “Come on.” They went on together for about five more minutes, and then Lyo’s steps slowed noticeably.

Jaxan realized where they were as he stepped out onto the flat, grassy ground. He could see the lights of the base far below, and the ships in the dry docks. The Empress’ Interceptor was barely visible, tucked into the grassy nook that served as its own hangar, and the scout outposts were lit by glowing lights across the canyon. “Are we on top of the base?” he asked, turning his attention to the space where they were standing and then forgetting -where- they were in his astonishment at what was there.

Tall, slim pole lights had been placed in a rough circle around a weighted pile of blankets and pillows. Chilled wine sat nearby in a climate-controlled storage case, with two glasses leaning against it. A few containers of cubed fruit and raw vegetables that he knew was meant for him, because Lyorek’s diet was almost solely meat, and mostly raw at that. There was one container that seemed intended for the Zabrak, though, judging from the crimson liquid dotting the sides and smeared on the lid as if someone had already been into it.

“Lyo..”

“Don’t.. make a big deal.” Lyorek’s expression could best be described as blatantly nervous, with a side order of deep internal conflict, but he seemed committed to going through with his plan regardless. “The doctor told me that there was supposed to be some kind of celestial anomaly,” he explained, and amusingly, at the last two words, he even mimicked Oggurobb’s pompous tone of voice and sonorous timbre, “tonight, and he helped me find an ideal spot for stargazing. It’s soon, so.. there’s no time for you to make this into some kind of grand gesture. Which it’s NOT.”

Jaxan felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he failed utterly at suppressing it. It was impossible. This was indescribably thoughtful and romantic, and so clearly out of Lyorek’s comfort zone that he felt a swelling of emotion that he knew would be -very- unwelcome if he were to express it in just this moment. So instead, he just let the smile out, and sat down on the spread blanket, pulling one of the extras over his legs as he pulled out the wine and opened the bottle. “Of course it’s not. But it’s a really amazing thing to do. I had no idea what you were hauling me out here to do, and I admit I’d assumed it’d be something tedious like more combat practice.”

“I’ve given up on that,” Lyorek told him mockingly, a charmingly lopsided grin softening the statement. “You’re impossible. I suppose we’ll all just have to kill people for you while you endlessly use defense techniques to bore your opponents to death.” The Inquisitor flopped down in the boneless way that he had, his long legs sprawling, clad in dark, soft pants and high boots. He pulled his boots off, and dug his toes into the grass just off the side of the blanket, making a plate for Jaxan, and one for himself, then arranging the pillows into a comfortable nest.

“It’s not -boring-.. it’s just.. not.. oh whatever, shut up.” Jaxan shoved Lyo’s shoulder when the Zabrak snorted in laughter, but his only response was to pull Jaxan closer to him, kissing him with a sudden flare of desire. Jax could feel the prickling sharpness of the Zabrak’s nails beneath his gloves, but Lyo was careful, even in one of his rougher moods, to not cause any real damage to the Jedi with them. The sharpness of his teeth were another danger at times, but he was cautious with them as well. Lyorek would never admit it, and Jaxan knew better than to remark upon it, but Lyo was always exquisitely mindful of Jax’s safety and pleasure every time he touched him. To him, that felt like something more than just desire, more than lust. Even if Lyo didn’t want to confess to it.

And now.. here they were in the dark, on top of the base, stretched out on the blankets; robes discarded, boots left in the grass, eating and talking, drinking wine, and watching the sky. The stars lit up the atmosphere, gleaming like gems in the velvet blackness of night, and they pushed the plates away, finishing their wine and laying on their backs, hands entangled, eyes skyward.

When the first light shot across the sky, Jaxan couldn’t suppress the gasp of surprise, and he could feel the breath from Lyorek’s chuckle brush against his ear when the Zabrak tugged the blanket up higher, wrapping his body around the Jedi’s taller frame. The meteor shower began in earnest after that, and they both watched quietly for a time, enraptured by the beautiful sight.

“Let’s stay up here all night, Lyo.. it’s a clear night, and you went to all this trouble..” Jaxan began as the shower began to slow, a few stray celestial travelers still darting across the ebony sky, straggling behind the rest. “We don’t need to go back to the base.”

“That was my plan, Jax.”

The purred response was spoken warmly against his throat, and Jax felt the brush of the sharp nails, this time devoid of gloves, trail across his stomach under the warmth of the blanket. He shuddered in helpless enjoyment, and laughed, turning to pull Lyorek into his arms.


	7. Déjà Vu - (Selirah/Quinn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selirah and Quinn have a talk about the post-Umbara situation.

There are some situations that are so extreme, so out of the realm of normalcy, that when they are experienced and struggled through and the pain is past, it’s easy to rationalize it as something that will never happen again.

A reasonable person would assume, when betrayed by a beloved, trusted partner, that the same thing wouldn’t, couldn’t happen twice.

And yet… here she was.

Selirah poured another drink, sitting alone in the Odessen cantina, in a quiet corner of a private room. Thus far, alcohol had done very little to dull the shock of the events and revelations on Umbara. And the quiet whispers and glances from the Alliance members made her feel like an even greater idiot than she had when she’d been standing in front of Theron, unable to force herself to admit that the same thing was happening -again-. She’d been such a fool, blinded by her trust in Theron’s feelings for her. Had she really failed him so badly?

“It is not your fault.” Quinn’s cool, certain assertion cut into Selirah’s thoughts, and she glanced at him distractedly as he entered the room, her eyes focusing on his face. Time had been kind to Malavai; a little grey softened the ebony of his hair, and there were a few more lines at the corners of the drowning pool eyes of dark blue that had always set him apart, but otherwise he seemed untouched. “I know that look, Selirah.” Neither of them needed to say why he knew it.. that terrible, heartbreaking moment was always between them, even now, when they’d finally found their way past the betrayal that had fractured their relationship years ago. “You cannot take the blame on yourself for his choice.”

“That would be reasonable if this was the first time it’d happened, Malavai,” she told him tiredly. “But it feels like a particularly sick sort of déjà vu.” He didn’t flinch, didn’t otherwise physically react, but she felt the sudden hot flare of shame in his thoughts despite his efforts, so she continued quickly, “I’m not comparing the two situations, and you know that I’ve forgiven you. But it’s difficult to deny that the only thing that -is- the same is that they both involved me. How can I -not- blame myself?”

Quinn sat beside her, his back ramrod straight. But after a moment, he let himself relax, leaning back against the cushioned couch, crossing one booted foot over the other, legs stretched out in front of himself. Selirah looked at him over the edge of her glass, remembering the strange way it had felt in those first days after the transponder station. With him on the ship with her, she couldn’t ignore him, walk away from him. He was always there, and she’d hated him and loved him with equal intensity while it ate away at the wounded shreds of their relationship.

But Theron was gone, and she was left looking at an empty place in bed, and his abandoned gear and slicing equipment in their room. It felt almost as if he’d died. 

“He made his own choice, Selirah. And he was wrong.”

“Was he?” She smiled, but she couldn’t hold onto it, and the expression fractured. Quinn laid his hand over hers, and took the glass from her fingers with the other hand, setting it aside on the table. “I can’t really be sure.”

“I am quite certain enough for us both. I’ve seen what you’ve done here, and it’s nothing that I would have imagined could have come from you as you were as the Wrath. I may hate to admit it, and I do,” he admitted, hoping for a smile from her, but she just kept looking at him steadily, uncertainty in her violet eyes, “but Theron had a hand in shaping who you are now. You could never have put this alliance together without being the person you’ve become, and I don’t know how he could look at the work you’re doing together and say it’s rotting from the inside, unless the rot was him.”

The hostility in Quinn’s voice was obvious, and Selirah let it go by without comment. What was she going to say? That he was wrong to be angry? That he shouldn’t hate Theron? Arcann had the same seething anger, and it made her feel even worse that she couldn’t share their outrage. She was angry sometimes, it was true. But most of the time, all she felt was sick, and guilty, and sad.

“Theron could have come to me. He knew that. But he didn’t. There has to be a more substantial reason why he felt like he couldn’t talk to me, Malavai.”

“You have to stop blaming yourself. He chose this route, knowing what it would cost. That is on him, not you.”

“Maybe.” Selirah sighed, sinking back against the couch, her fingers flexing lightly in Quinn’s hand. “I just wish I wasn’t in this position again. I hoped I never would have to feel this way again.”

Quinn held her hand in his, but he seemed to know that nothing he did was going to comfort her right now. It was too soon, and perhaps he was the wrong person to speak to her about this. But he couldn’t help himself. He hated to see her like this. It just brought everything about his own failure back to the surface again, and even made it worse, because now he could see the pain that he’d wrought years ago so much more clearly.

Instead of continuing to try to ease her mind, he just sat with her instead. She went back to her drinking, and he kept her company.

There was nothing else to be done.


	8. Sharing Traditions - (Jaxan/Lyorek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jax and Lyorek talk about their different learning experiences.

“What’s it like being raised as a Jedi?” Lyorek’s question was idly offered, but there was genuine enough interest in his tone to catch Jaxan’s attention. They were alone in Nox’s catastrophically cluttered ‘office’ space – since her injuries, she had been in the medical bay, and keeping up with her work had fallen on Jaxan’s 'To Do’ list. The room still looked like a plasma grenade had been set off in the middle of it, but the young Jedi had been slowly organizing everything in a more sensible fashion, whenever he could get a little time away from her gimlet gaze.

He paused in his work and set down the tablet he’d been categorizing, dark eyes flickering towards Lyorek. The Zabrak sat on a pile of flimsi sheets and sketches, having shoved the datapads out of his way before flopping down on the corner of the desk. Like a huge black cat, he sprawled comfortably, legs kicking in midair, poking thoughtfully at an engraved round stone. Jaxan picked it up, tucking it safely into a storage case so the Inquisitor didn’t accidentally knock it to the floor. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Nox -always- blamed Jaxan if Lyorek broke something, as if he’d failed to properly babysit the Zabrak’s bored tendency towards fidgeting. “That’s somewhat of a vague question. What part of it are you curious about?”

Lyo’s sulky expression at having the artifact pulled out of his grasp melted into a thoughtful expression, his red and black features squishing up into a 'thinking’ look that made Jaxan laugh out loud at the obvious exaggeration for his benefit. The Zabrak flashed him a quick, playful smile, and elaborated, “Well.. tell me about something.. typical. Traditional. What did your Master have you do to teach you?”

Jaxan leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm, remembering his Master. Then he chuckled. “Oh. You’ll like this one. My master was big on peaceful solutions, and he preferred for me to find them whenever possible. I’d been struggling with my combat training,” the Jedi began, pausing to add slyly, “Something that I’m sure astonishes you.”

“Shocking! But I’ll assume you’re telling the truth, just the same. Please, continue,” Lyorek said expansively, making a sweeping gesture with one black-clad arm.

“Why, thank you,” Jax replied in a teasing tone. “He sent me to see to the defense of an area that the native uxibeasts use for their calving ground. The young were being picked off extensively by the manka cats that were moving into the area, and they were led by a big, old female cat who was too canny to be caught or driven away. However.. he told me that killing the cats wasn’t a viable option, that another group would just move in. My master wanted me to find a solution that didn’t involve violence.”

Lyorek snorted rudely. “That’s ridiculous. Killing the female probably would have driven out the others. It would have accomplished the goal quickly and efficiently,” the Sith pointed out, his booted feet clunking rhythmically against the side of the desk as he swung his legs.

“Easy isn’t always right, Lyo,” Jaxan replied, reaching out and laying one hand on Lyo’s knee. The Zabrak stilled his legs after a moment, then rested his gloved hand atop Jax’s. “The point was to think about the best solution for all the parties involved, not just the simplest one. Many masters set such tasks for padawans. It forces us to be creative in our methods.”

“You’re certainly creative.” Lyorek gave him a quietly amused look, his fingers squeezing Jaxan’s hand. “So what did you do?”

“I went to the library, and I read about uxibeasts, and about mankas. And then I went in search of a male manka. I thought.. maybe.. I could calm him enough to get him to spray in the area. Mark his territory, you know? They spray.”

“… what do they spray?” Lyorek slid off the desk, and Jaxan winced as several important documents slid to the floor with him. But the Zabrak came to crouch beside his seat, his arms resting across his thighs, listening to the story curiously with bright red-gold eyes focused on the Jedi’s face, and Jax put aside the worry about Nox’s research. He could pick it up later.

“Urine. It’s how they mark their hunting areas. So I figured.. if I could make a male come spray there, the female would back down with her own group, not wanting the young to be killed by a hostile male,” Jaxan continued, laughing at Lyorek’s disgusted expression. “I know, but.. it was the only thing I could think of at the time. It didn’t -quite- work out as I’d hoped, though. I had him calm, and he seemed to be listening, though I can’t say how much he really understood what I was trying to communicate to him through the force. I was projecting calm, and trying to picture what I needed, but I think I wasn’t exactly clear. Because he sprayed -me-. A lot.”

Lyorek stared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. Jaxan sighed, but it wasn’t as if there wasn’t a good reason for the mockery. He remembered that moment, and his shock, and he started to laugh too, shaking his head.

“There was nothing for it but to strip off my soaking wet clothes – he’d gotten me pretty much from head to mid-thigh – and use them to smear the urine up at the height his markers would have been. So I went all around the uxibeast calving grounds, reeking of manka piss, scrubbing my ruined robes over the trees and rocks in the area. When I came back to the enclave, everyone avoided me and laughed at me, and my master took one look and serenely told me to seek enlightenment with several bars of soap before returning to his presence.”

Lyorek was pretty nearly in tears by this point, leaning on Jaxan’s knees, making deep, choked snickers in the back of his throat. “Did you pass your test?” he finally managed, still chuckling, scrubbing the back of one hand over his eyes.

“I did. My master was impressed by my dedication. But he did send me back to the baths twice before he’d let me tell him about it. Apparently manka urine has an extremely powerful scent, and I still smelled badly.” Jaxan ducked his blonde head, grinning self-consciously. “My robes were burned, though.”

Leaning up, Lyo knotted his hand into the Jedi’s tan robes, pulling him down closer to his face. “A Zabrak might have just assumed you had a particularly pungent pheromone scent,” he teased, before closing the distance between them and claiming a kiss. “I don’t think you want to hear about our.. traditions, though. Most Sith stories can be summed up with ’.. and then I killed him/her/it’ and that’s about all there is to it.”

Jaxan traced his fingers between the curved arches of Lyorek’s small horns, the pads of his digits trailing up each bony protrusion, feeling the distinctive ridges and structure of each one. The Zabrak closed his eyes, a pleased, even relaxed expression coming across his striking features. “You worked for Nox though, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm. For years. We’ve been together since a short time after I left the Academy and came to Kaas City. She ascended to the Dark Council, and I went with her. I would never have gotten to that level of influence without her. Not on my own.”

“I’ve spent enough time with Darth Nox to know that she has.. some.. odd interests.”

“I did have to climb a cliffside once. It was on Yavin Four, and she sent me straight up a cliffside with a bag over my shoulder and told me not to come back if I wasn’t successful,” Lyorek admitted, a faint smile curving his lips as he laid his head down on Jaxan’s knees, letting the Jedi stroke his smooth-skinned head and touch the horns arrayed in distinctive patterns.

“Successful at what, exactly? Finding her some kind of strange artifact? Unlocking an ancient Sith mechanism?”

“Gizkas.” The single word was delivered with some evident venom. “And let me just say.. those damn things might like -you-, but they sure don’t like me. I nearly fell off the side of the cliff twice climbing down with two screaming gizkas stuffed in a sack, and they bit me in every piece of my body they could reach, and it seemed a few times like there wasn’t anything they couldn’t reach,” Lyorek relayed dryly, and pointed helpfully. “They very nearly made me useless to the base in general and you in particular.”

Jaxan laughed, spreading his fingers, touching as many of the horn protrusions as possible with each fingertip. “They know you don’t like them, that’s all.”

“They’re vicious little creatures, nothing but teeth and legs.”

“What were you meant to learn from it?” Jaxan asked, curiously.

Lyorek snickered, opening his eyes to look at the Jedi. “Nothing. Either I’d die or I’d bring her the gizkas. I guess if you need a deeper lesson, it was.. don’t die. That applies to a Sith’s entire life. Don’t die. Don’t anger the wrong person. Don’t flirt with a Dark Council member’s mistress.”

Feeling a swell of affection and understanding, Jaxan made a beckoning gesture, and Lyorek got up, straddling the Jedi’s lap in the chair, his dense muscled form heavier than it looked, solid and firm against him as he wrapped his arms around the Inquisitor. “Those seem like decent lessons to have learned. Perhaps she was looking out for you more than you realized, Lyo.”

“You just want to see the good in everyone,” Lyorek retorted dismissively. “You’re seeing something that doesn’t exist in Nox.” But Jax could see the idea sink into the Zabrak’s thoughts, his eyes growing thoughtful as he cupped Jaxan’s face in his hands, kissing him with more heat than previously.

It was enough to have planted the idea. Lyorek’s life had been very different from his, and Jaxan knew that and respected that the harder upbringing might have made the Inquisitor into the man he was now, someone that had a lot of hidden layers to him. Jax liked that about him; he was interesting, and complex, and always surprising. Even so, it never hurt to let him see that there was another way. And he was grateful that Lyo had shared something about himself that wasn’t superficial. 

Maybe it meant something.. more could be possible between them, someday.


	9. Cooking Breakfast (Vector/Cipher Nine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vector takes care of his agent during a difficult time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind, obviously. ;) But I'll get caught up.

Toast. Fresh squeezed juice, which had not been easy to come by, but Kaliyo for all of her many faults -was- extremely well-connected and had found some sweet Alderaanian fruit for the cause when he’d confessed his idea. Preserves for the toast, and room-temperature, softened nerf butter. Eggs, scrambled, with cheese and a splash of the bottle of hot sauce that Nine hid in the back of the cupboards.

Vector worked in relative silence, listening to the ambient sounds on the Whisper. Kaliyo was bickering with Scorpio over some perceived slight, Dr. Lokin was reading out his notes for his recordings, his voice carrying to the kitchen area. And Temple..

“What are you doing, Vector?” Her voice was always so pleasant upon the ear that it made Vector smile when he glanced at Raina Temple. She had joined them recently, but she was so earnest and helpful that he could not help but like her. “Is there anything I can do? I assume that you are taking this to..” She gestured at the closed door to Nine’s quarters silently, as if the agent would hear her otherwise.

Vector nodded, arranging the food carefully on the plates, and then on the tray so that they wouldn’t slide too much when he was moving. “It is for the agent. We have noticed, as we are certain you have as well, that she is sleeping poorly. We thought that perhaps a breakfast and some quiet time to herself without listening to Kaliyo’s constant complaints would help to pick up her mood. Do you agree?”

Raina looked a little doubtful, but she smiled cheerfully anyway. “Of course, it’s a nice thing to do for her. Would you like me to get the door?”

“Thank you, Raina. We would appreciate the assistance. We did not wish to be forced to ask Kaliyo to help, and Toovee is otherwise engaged.” Raina followed him, hovering slightly as if she expected him to drop the tray, but Vector carried it easily, waiting gracefully before the door. The young woman opened the door and stood aside, indulging in one curious glance inside before allowing the door to close behind him.

Nine wasn’t visible under the blankets, but her braids were sprawled across the pillows, and he could see the fingers of one hand sticking out from beneath the edge of the dove-grey bedding. “Agent.. Nine,” he corrected himself mildly, knowing that she generally preferred to go by her ‘name’ among the crew. “Forgive us for intruding upon your rest. It has been some time since we have seen you eat, and we were.. concerned about your well-being. Will you take some breakfast?”

“Vector?” The blankets stirred, and slender, dark-skinned fingers pushed the blanket down, peeling it away from her face and chest. Nine’s grey eyes came into view, and Vector could see from the violet smudges beneath her eyes that she had likely had another tough, sleepless night. “You brought me breakfast?” she asked sluggishly, and he watched her spread her fingers, opening and closing them. He could see her lips moving, and after a moment, realized she was mouthing, 'open’ and 'close’ to herself. It was not the first time he’d witnessed her doing this odd.. exercise, but she would not tell him what the reasoning was behind it. It was difficult to fault an Imperial agent for being secretive, though - it was their stock in trade.

Vector set the tray down on the bed, over her legs once she’d scooted up, stuffing pillows behind her back so she could sit up. “We know that you need to eat, Nine,” the Joiner told her firmly. Her aura looked strange, as it had for some time. Sickly, flickering with ugly colors of pain and throttled anger. He could not begin to imagine how difficult her job was at times, even though he had been at her side for a while now. Asking her how she felt resulted in a falsely cheerful reply of 'I’m fine’ every single time, and though he was certain she was lying about that, he knew it had to be her decision, if she wanted to open up to him, or share how she felt. “So we made you some food. Kaliyo even contributed. It is only the juice, don’t worry. And we squeezed it ourselves, and sweetened it lightly. She did none of the work. Only our hands touched it.”

Nine’s shoulders eased, and she even smiled at him, her face thin from strain and lack of appetite. She picked up the toast, and Vector saw her hand shaking when she began to spread the butter. Nine’s jaw set firmly, and she smeared bread and fruit preserves on the triangle of toasted bread, conveying it to her mouth carefully.

A smile, hesitant and slow, came across her mouth at the mouthful of food and the flavors, and Vector felt a stir of pleasure at the knowledge that he’d helped somewhat, even if the gesture was small. “Will you sit with me?” she asked, and Vector sank down on the foot of the bed, folding his long legs to the side.

“We would be delighted, Nine. How is your breakfast? The toast was not too crisp?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice.

“No. It’s perfect.” The smile widened into a full, real smile, the first one he’d seen in weeks from her. It made him think that perhaps things would be alright, if she was given time to get past whatever was troubling her. “Absolutely perfect, Vector.”


	10. Bickering (Jaxan/Lyorek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyorek is annoying. Also known as: Lyorek is Lyorek.
> 
> Jaxan loses a little of his Jedi composure.

“Stop. Stop. STOP. You’re going to break it.”

“I’m not going to break it.”

“Yes, you are. You broke one just last week.”

“That wasn’t -really- my fault, though. I think we can both agree on that point.”

“No, we can’t. Put it down, right where you found it.”

“Fiiiine.” Lyo put the artifact down with exaggerated care on the crate, defiant to the last and sounding like a sulky child, but Jaxan breathed a sigh of relief once it was out of his hands. “Aren’t you done? I’m bored.”

“You could -help-, Lyo. I know that you can translate these just as well as I can, if not better. And there’s one over there in Sith, and I can’t translate that. You know how Nox is about the ones -she- has to translate personally.” Jaxan rubbed his nose tiredly, then his eyes. They felt like they were burning, and he was pretty sure he’d just smooshed dirt into them from his grimy fingers. It was beginning to make some sense to him why so many Inquisitors wore gloves all the time.

“I don’t want to help. Nox isn’t here. We could go do something enjoyable.” Lyorek brushed the soft silk of his sleeve across Jaxan’s face, smoothing away the dust that the Jedi’s hands had left on his skin. “Put it away, this stuff doesn’t matter.”

“It matters because I said I would do it, Lyorek. And you’re only being disrespectful because Darth Nox isn’t here, or you’d be sitting over there translating that Sith tablet in your neatest hand,” Jaxan told him sourly, the relentlessly smiling demeanor slipping for once. He was so tired. There was so much work to do, and Lyorek’s shenanigans had gone from merely annoying to actively obstructionist. “I’m tired of bickering with you, and I’m just plain tired. Help, or leave.”

Lyorek’s red-gold eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, a look of guilt came across his demarcated face. He took a deep breath, and left the room without another word.

Jaxan sighed, and put his head in his hands. Great, now he felt terrible. He should have been kinder about it. Lyorek wasn’t trying to be obnoxious; he just wanted to spend time with him, and it wasn’t as if Jax didn’t want the same thing. He just wanted to finish this work, so it wasn’t hanging over his head.

He’d just about made up his mind to get up and go find the Inquisitor, when Lyorek came back to the office. He had a cup in his hand that smelled like steaming, spiced caf.. and was. He set the cup down next to Jaxan, and bent to kiss his forehead, brushing the drooping strands of blond hair away first. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” 

As if all of that wasn’t astonishing enough, the Inquisitor sat down in Nox’s chair and pulled the Sith tablet over, handling it carefully. He started working, without complaint. “We’ll finish this faster together, Jax, like you wanted. But then you’re free, and you’re all mine,” he said after a moment, and the look he gave the Jedi made Jaxan reconsider how important these translations actually were as he bent his attention hastily back to his work to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.

No.. they’d finish them. All of them. Quickly. Really quickly.


	11. Hologram (Lana/Darth Nox)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana finally gets an explanation for one of Nox's secrets.

There were a great many unwritten rules for dealing with Darth Nox.

Don’t try to remove her gloves. Don’t rearrange her office. Don’t move her artifacts. Don’t eat the last sweet roll before the morning meeting. Don’t be a Jedi. Don’t be force-blind. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be humorless. Don’t remark on her height. Don’t touch her hair. Don’t insult her gizkas. Don’t ask about her gizkas. Don’t pick a fight with her. Don’t touch the two statues on her desk.

Lana was used to the many ways that she had to work around Nox’s foibles in order to maintain a level of peace and comfort in their strange, formless relationship over the years. But there was one thing that she’d never had the courage to ask about in all that time, despite her vast curiosity.

The box under her bed.

It’d taken her a long time to even be invited to Nox’s room. Other than their first few nights together on Yavin Four, the Inquisitor had always come to Lana when she felt the desire for company, rather than vice versa. They had drifted apart for a while, each consumed with their own duties and pursuits after the events on that moon. But they had come together again shortly before the Eternal Empire had begun their exploratory attacks, and Nox had even invited her up to her massive apartment in Kaas City.

It was there that she’d first seen the box. The corner had been just barely visible beneath the dark, rich blankets hanging off the side of the bed in the morning. Nox was already awake and gone from the bed, elsewhere in the depths of the apartment, so Lana was alone when she woke up. It was pure luck that caused her to see the box; the right angle at exactly the right moment when she’d turned away from the rain-streaked windows. Pulling it out from beneath the bed, she’d examined it carefully.

It was small, slightly bigger than her palm, and octagonal. There were marks carved into it with an exacting hand, strange, exquisitely detailed scenes that appeared to be of several places. One was obviously the Dark Council’s meeting chamber, set with all the massive thrones that the members presided from while in attendance. Another appeared to be of Makeb’s strange and beautiful mesas. An approximation of a rickety pirate town was absolutely Rishi. The last image seemed to be that of a temple, but in the Empire, they were not an unusual sight, and they were scattered across numerous planets and moons.

“Don’t touch that.” Nox’s voice was cold, furious. Lana flushed to the very roots of her hair in embarrassment at having been caught at her curiosity. “Don’t ever touch that.”

It’d taken nearly an hour of apologizing to erase the ice from Nox’s blue eyes, and another hour to bring back the woman that she had met through her association working with Darth Marr. When the smiles and humor had finally returned, Lana felt as if she’d narrowly escaped stepping into a hidden pitfall.

It’d been over a year before she’d seen the box again, and Lana, wisely, had heeded the warning she’d been given the last time, and didn’t touch it.

Now, on Odessen, as Nox moved her things into Lana’s room ( _Finally. She’d thought it would never happen, to tell the truth._ ), the box appeared once more, along with the gizka statue, and the delicate glass rose that had held the pride of place on her desk for so long. Lana had watched as Nox placed the statues carefully on the table beside the bed. The diminutive Inquisitor sat on the bed, and glanced at Lana, a sidelong look from beneath pale blonde lashes.

“Lana,” Nox said hesitantly, the box held in her gloved hands. Lana looked at her expectantly, but Nox said nothing else. She just turned the box around and around and around in her hands, and then pressed the box in several places, carefully, with the tips of her fingers. Lana heard a series of soft clicks, a mechanism activating and unlocking, and then the top of the box slid open to reveal a hologram base.

It was such an oddly.. normal item. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected – a book of blackmail information? An esoteric tome? Some vastly valuable artifact? A piece of a Jedi? But a simple hologram was definitely not something that had been on the list. Nox held the box out to her in invitation, and Lana took it carefully, withdrawing the hologram base.

“I am happy with my life. I’m aware that it seems strange and sterile to people. But I enjoy my isolation, and I find most people’s company immensely repulsive. Not yours, obviously,” Nox added somewhat unnecessarily, but Lana smiled at the given exception, “but I doubt it comes as much of a surprise that I do not cultivate many close relationships. I’m aware of the rumors that circulated on Dromund Kaas, and I’m aware of their origin. But despite whatever you may have heard in certain circles, I was not having a torrid affair with -anyone- during my council days. I was too busy maintaining my power base.”

Lana didn’t interrupt. She had learned quickly that there were very few times when Nox shared anything about herself, and if she wanted to know more, she had to know when to suppress her natural curiosity, and let the Inquisitor broach the topic at her own pace.

“At any rate.” Nox turned her head away, and Lana thought for a moment that she might not continue, because she could hear the other woman’s breath catch in her throat painfully. “I have never been very social, or good at making friends. It was not a lack that I regretted. I had..” Again, there was a long, uncertain pause. “I had one friend. Only one.”

Slowly, Lana activated the hologram, and an image flickered into view.

There was no way of telling when the image had been taken just by looking at it. But it was a picture of Nox, her long blonde braid hanging down and her hood down her back, face to face with Darth Marr. She had her gloved hand on his mask, a wide smile on her face, and her nose nearly pressed against the surface of the featureless mask as if she were trying to look inside it. It was, of course, impossible to tell what kind of expression Marr had been wearing at the time, but it was obviously not a posed picture. Someone had taken it when they hadn’t been looking, and the expression on Nox’s face was unguarded. Genuine. Affectionate. Even.. happy.

Looking up from the hologram to ask Nox who had taken the picture, or when it had been taken, Lana realized that she was alone in the room, and the other woman was gone.


	12. Refresher (Theron/Selirah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy happier times on Rishi.

“THERON! Are you -done- in there yet?”

“No? Soon? Maybe? What’s the rush?”

“I’m just starting to find myself needing visual reassurance that you haven’t died in there.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Is this just a recording of your voice?”

Sticking his head out the door, Theron shrugged gracefully, one shoulder lifting and falling in an insouciant gesture. “See? Alive. Do you need to get in here?”

“I can’t imagine what would give you that idea. Everyone knows I have a cortosis bladder. What are you doing in there? It’s been nearly an hour.” Selirah eyed him doubtfully, the Twi'lek sitting cross-legged on the bed in his small room on Rishi, wearing an old shirt of Theron’s and demonstrably nothing else.

“First of all, that’s disgusting. And probably not possible.” Before he could catch himself, Theron touched his hair nervously with one hand, and she started to laugh. “What? I couldn’t get it to look.. right,” he snapped, defensively, and Selirah made a choked snickering sound, covering her mouth with one crimson hand. “Oh be quiet, you don’t even have any hair to worry about.”

“Not true, I have eyelashes. Don’t worry, Theron, you look very pretty. So, so lovely. Absolutely beautiful,” she told him slyly.

“Say that again.” He slid the door open fully, combing his fingers through his recalcitrant hair, still fairly sure that it wasn’t quite as artfully tousled as he wanted it. “I dare you.”

Selirah eyed him, her legs unfolding slowly as she shifted to kneeling on the bed. “Theron.. you are a vision of shockingly inexplicable, Republic-bred gorgeousness,” she responded, a mocking grin curving her lips. “You’re glorious. Your hair surely inspires songs.” Theron dove for her across the bed, and she shrieked, flinging herself off the bed and dodging his hands quickly as he reached for her.

“You are in trouble,” he promised threateningly, launching himself off the bed as she dashed for the ‘fresher door. His fingers locked in the back of the shirt she was draped in as the Twi'lek leaped hastily into the bathroom, and she dragged him with her, both of them sprawling against the back wall of the small room. She was laughing as he pinned her there, his hands lifting her under the arms so that her face was on a level with his. “Some boogyman you are, Wrath. I thought you were supposed to be scary.”

She grinned unrepentantly at him, and kicked him in the shin with one bare foot. Theron grunted but didn’t let her down, leaning in against her. Selirah’s eyes met his, and for a moment, he was convinced she was about to kiss him. Her lips parted invitingly, and his eyes dropped to watch them, heat unfurling instantly in his body as his thoughts shifted gear from horseplay to something far more passionate.

Then she reached up slowly, her fingers sliding over his jaw, tracing lightly over his implants at his temple… and then digging deliberately into his hair, mussing it wildly. “Much, much better, Agent Shan.”

Theron narrowed his eyes at her, scowling. An hour of work, gone. His hair flopped over his forehead, and the Wrath rudely snickered right in his face. “If I needed proof that Sith are nothing but pure, unadulterated evil – now I have it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

He let Selirah down on her feet out of necessity, but kept her there, one hand pressed lightly against her shoulder. Reaching behind himself with his free hand, he slid the door to the 'fresher closed behind him. “See if we both fit in this shower. And afterwards, you can fix my hair -for- me as a sign of good faith in your willingness to work together.”

Selirah was still laughing when he pulled her into the shower with him, flipping his shirt off over her head and letting it drop to the floor. “I do love these little negotiations.”

“Me too.”


	13. Telling Others About Their Relationship (Arcann & Senya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mother and son bonding moment over women. Well, just one woman.

Sometimes, Senya wasn’t sure how to approach her son. Even after everything they’d gone through to get him healed, and the time they’d spent together since, she could tell that he struggled with the idea of getting to know her again after his rejection of her as a child. He was so proud, and so afraid of letting others see vulnerability in him, but his regret and shame were palpable every time she caught him looking at her.

Sana-Rae had suggested that they train her students together, and the exercise had actually helped, giving them time together doing something that let them be physically close, without requiring much conversation or emotional involvement. She was grateful to the Voss woman for her insight, even though her son didn’t seem willing to use the opening as a chance to get to know his mother.

Even so, Senya couldn’t help but wish that he would talk to her more often. Open up to her. Be her son, again. Thexan had been the sweeter of the pair of them… Arcann had always held himself slightly aloof, even as a baby. But she knew that somewhere deep inside, he craved the love he’d never received. The love she’d failed in, but had wanted to give.

Sitting alone at a table in the cantina, Senya was startled to hear his distinctive, deep voice greet her politely. “Mother, would you mind if I joined you?” he asked, a note of hesitance reaching her ears despite his carefully aloof expression.

She smiled, and nodded. “Please do, Arcann. You don’t have to ask. Is everything going alright?”

He stood for a moment, clearly deciding whether to take the seat across from her, or the one next to her. The one next to her won out, and Senya tried to cover her pleased smile, taking a sip of her tea to hide it. Arcann settled in the chair, comfortably slouched, one forearm resting on the table. “I believe so,” he started. His pale blue eyes, so much like her own, moved from the table surface to her face, and then back again. “No. That’s not true. I was hoping.. I wanted to ask you,” he tried, and a faint embarrassed color rose in his unscarred cheek, the scarred side reddening irregularly around the thickened skin. “I am not sure how to talk to you.”

Senya set her cup down on the table, her heart skipping painfully at his obvious uncertainty. “You can talk to me about anything. I would very much like to hear whatever is troubling you. Perhaps I can help.” She wanted to touch his hand where it lay on the table, the strong fingers curved slightly, pads resting on the surface, but something told her not to attempt it. That it wouldn’t be welcomed. Not yet.

“I feel conflicted about something. I’m not sure what to do.” This admission came calmly enough, but his fingers curled slowly into a fist, knuckles resting on the table, pale from the pressure of his grip. “It is regarding the Commander.”

It was difficult to conceal her reaction this time, so Senya did not try. Her eyebrows lifted, and she turned her tea mug in circles slowly, glancing at her son over it. “What is it about her? Are you having difficulty working with her? I can imagine that perhaps it is hard to adjust to things here.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. She.. and I.. ” His mouth snapped closed abruptly, and he fell silent. Senya saw Theron come into the cantina, crossing the room to talk to Koth. Her son’s eyes followed the other man, and she saw a familiar look on his face. Envy. 

Ahh, so that was the way it was. She’d wondered after the attack on Darvannis; the way he’d searched for Selirah when the building had come down on top of her, how he’d refused to give up until he’d found her, unconscious and buried in wreckage. The look on his face when he’d lifted her injured body in his arms. She knew Arcann had stayed by her hospital bed, and that he’d returned to Odessen with her, in her ship. But she hadn’t realized how strongly he felt for the Commander. She wondered if the Commander returned the feelings at all, or if it was one-sided.

And what, if anything, Theron knew.

Once Koth and Theron had left, heading back towards the lift that led to the war room, Arcann looked at Senya, and risking greatly, she reached out and laid her hand over his. Her son didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, after a moment, he uncurled his fist, letting her take his hand and comfort him with the touch. “Do you love her?” Senya asked gently. Arcann’s eyes shifted away from her face, dropping down, and she could read the answer in that evasive look as clearly as if he’d spoken. “Does she know how you feel?”

“Yes. And yes.” His answer came reluctantly, but unwavering in his certainty. “Before you ask, I know how she feels, too. But it does not make it less complicated. Everyone already hates me. If they see me coming between her and Theron..”

Senya nodded, understanding his concern. “You’re right. The best thing to do might be to keep your distance,” she began. The expression on his face, however, made her chuckle. “I know. You don’t want to do that. Then there’s only one other option.”

“What is that?”

“She needs to talk to Theron. You can’t go behind his back.” Her son’s face shifted from stubborn refusal to embarrassment. “Arcann… alright, you can’t go behind his back more than you apparently already have.” Senya sighed. “Let her talk to Theron. And keep your distance until she does.”

“I’ll try.”

Senya shook her head ruefully. “This wasn’t quite the conversation that I was expecting. But even so, I’m grateful that you came to me with it, Arcann. I hope you will feel more comfortable talking to me about things in the future, without needing it to be some kind of huge catastrophe.”

“Is it a catastrophe, mother? Does it have to be?” he asked, sounding stung, and she squeezed his hand gently.

“No. Of course not. If she cares about you, then perhaps it will work out.” Unlike the way things had gone between Valkorian and herself. What a mess they’d made of everything. “I would like to see one of my children happy.”

Arcann stayed with her there as she finished her tea, and then he excused himself to go find Selirah, and Senya sat by herself for a while longer. She hoped that it -would- work out for him, and wondered if somewhere, Valkorian could see that his son was learning to live outside of his dark, heavy shadow. That they both were finding their places in the Alliance without his influence.

Part of her hoped that he could see it, and that it enraged him. It would serve him right.


	14. Sleepy - (Theron/Selirah/Arcann)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron hits some resistance to his wake up call.

“Time to wake up, love.”

Selirah made a derisive noise in response to Theron’s voice, pulling the covers further over her head and by default, further over Arcann’s head too, since he was curled around her left side. He opened one blue eye briefly to regard Theron over Seli’s head before the blanket made him disappear, but his only response otherwise seemed to be to wrap his other arm around her midsection and go back to sleep.

Theron sighed. Every day. Every day it was like poking a pile of sleeping manka cats to wake these two up. And sometimes, it was just as likely to end in scratches left on the skin, and bites. Not that he was necessarily complaining about -that- outcome.

“You said you wanted to go to the meeting this morning,” he tried again, attempting to peel the covers away from the Twi'lek-shaped lump in the middle of the bed, and the slightly larger human one beside it. For a second, it seemed as if he’d be successful. Then the blanket snapped shut again and he was absolutely certain that Selirah hadn’t been touching it when it happened. “Which one of you did that? It’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating, Theron,” Arcann said defensively, his voice muffled under the blanket. Selirah’s only contribution was a snickering laugh that didn’t clarify at all which one of them was responsible for the inappropriate use of the force.

“It’s absolutely cheating. Besides, you -told- me to wake you up. You’re both being lazy.” Theron rolled his eyes, and stretched out on his side of the bed, pulling his share of the blankets up over his stomach. If they weren’t getting up, neither was he.

“You’re not up either,” Selirah pointed out, and one crimson hand snaked across the bed to tug on Theron’s wrist imperiously. “Come closer.”

Sulking was always an option, but not a particularly attractive one at this moment. The meeting -was- an important one, and he knew Lana would be annoyed at all of them if they were AWOL from it. But on the flip side, they’d all been working so hard lately that they couldn’t possibly be the only ones having trouble forcing themselves out of comfortable beds. Theron snagged his datapad off the side table, and sent a hasty message explaining that they were all going to be late. Tossing the device back, he slid under the covers and was met by Selirah’s sleepy, half-lidded violet eyes and her smile.

Theron put his arm around her, just above Arcann’s where it rested on her lower stomach, and kissed her. “You’re right, this is a much better use of the morning,” he observed, and Arcann nodded in agreement against Selirah’s left shoulder, his eyes already closed again.

“We can go in a little while,” Selirah promised. Theron laughed, free hand pushing his hair back from his forehead, fingers ruffling through the dark brown strands absently.

“You have no intention of making that meeting,” he answered, and she responded by curving her body closer to his, her lips brushing the side of his throat. Theron heard her make a non-committal sound against his neck, followed by a gentle nip of teeth at the juncture of throat and shoulder that almost made him forget the meeting entirely. And possibly also his name.

Now that he was thinking about it, staying in bed with his favorite people seemed like a much better use of such a sleepy morning anyway.


	15. Daydreaming (Lyorek/Jaxan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyorek isn't sure that he's comfortable with the path he's on.

Leaning against the edge of the walkway in the hangar bay, Lyorek smiled lazily at the Mirialan pilot chatting at him. She was pretty, her skin a rich, dark green shade that made her blue eyes more startlingly attractive. She’d stopped him on his way through the bay, and he could see the invitation in her smile and the slightly suggestive comments she’d been making for the last several minutes. It was tempting; she hadn’t been with the Alliance for very long, and she was smart, and interesting, and would look delicious spread out on his sheets. He’d never needed any more reason than that in the past.

Today, though, Lyorek found himself oddly disinterested in the idea of pursuing the relationship further than a little aimless flirtation. The pilot was certainly his type – Nox would be quick to say that everyone was his type, and he’d never been offended by that assertion. It wasn’t far off the mark. He liked people. Didn’t matter much to him if they were Republic smugglers, Imperial technicians, soldiers for either side, even other Sith or Intelligence agents. There was always something to enjoy about them, whether it was personality, or looks, or sense of humor, or … a substantial talent in other areas.

Making his excuses to the disappointed Mirialan, Lyorek left the hangar, sauntering past the guards and down the hall towards the the enclave and Sana-Rae’s domain. At this time of day, it was likely that Jaxan could be found there, and he was turning in at the door before he even realized that was why he had come. He’d left someone clearly interested in him… to come look for Jax.

It wasn’t that there was anything -wrong- in enjoying the Jedi’s company. He enjoyed the company of all of his lovers, sometimes even for weeks before tiring of them. And it hadn’t been long enough yet since Jaxan had joined the Alliance on Iokath for Lyo to feel like he’d spent -too- much time with him. Leaning his shoulder against the rough stone wall, the Zabrak gazed into the enclave, watching the students going through their lessons, practicing saber forms, studying philosophy, learning meditation techniques. Sana-Rae drifted among the groups, speaking softly in encouragement.

Towards the back of the cavernous room, he could see Jaxan’s blonde hair marking the position where the Jedi knelt, his eyes closed and his hands resting lightly in his robe-swathed lap as he meditated deeply within the force. Lyorek watched him silently, acknowledging the strong attraction that he felt for the other man, the desire that spilled through his senses every time he was near him. He wanted to go into the room, go to Jaxan; he could see it in his head when he closed his eyes. Every moment of their time together. How easy Jax was to talk to, to be around. The way the Jedi accepted him without judgment, despite the vast gulf of difference between their lives and beliefs. How easy it would be to let Jaxan in to his life, his private spaces, his thoughts, his heart.

Lyorek recoiled from the thought, rejecting the domestic sweetness of the vision of waking up next to the same person. Rejecting the idea that it was only appealing to him because it was Jaxan. Withdrawing from the pervasive daydream that he could see wrapped around the serene Jedi kneeling across the room, the Inquisitor turned away. He forced himself to walk around the corner and down the hall, hesitating at the branch that led back to the hangar bay.

The Mirialan pilot was there. He could take her to bed, push all of this foolishness out of his head for a few hours. There was no reason not to indulge himself with her. Jaxan might not even care if he did it. Lyorek made himself believe that long enough to take a few more steps down the passageway that led to the hangar, but then the truth dragged his feet into stillness.

Jax might not raise his voice, or blame him openly. He might even say that Lyo was free to do anything (and anyone) that he wanted. The Jedi might even mean it, in the moment. But he thought about the way Jaxan looked at him when they were together, and the way he always reached for him if Lyorek rolled out of reach during the night, and he knew that he was lying to himself.

Jaxan would care. He would be hurt.

Lyorek forced himself to take another step. He could see the hangar, with Aygo bustling around near the consoles, talking to one of the soldiers. The Mirialan woman would be in the bay still, if he went now. She would be glad to see him return. It’d take no effort at all. He only had to go in and find her, and turn on the charm.

It was foolish to hang on to this idea of having a real relationship with anyone, much less with someone like Jaxan. It was a fantasy. An ephemeral daydream. But Lyorek simply lingered there in the doorway, unable to make himself decide to leave or to stay, paralyzed by his fears and indecision.


	16. Making Each Other Laugh (Lana/Nox)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana gets a surprise visit while helping students on the training ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind.. I'm playing SWTOR. *laughs* But I'm getting caught up.
> 
> No, I'm not, I'm playing a baby warrior. But I'll get caught up soon!

Lana patiently took the students through another series of exercises, watching them carefully. Most of them were picking it up quickly, though there were several that she was certain would end up running themselves through at some point. She paused to correct a pair of advanced students, and mid-sentence, was interrupted by the taller of the two gasping aloud. “What’s the matter?” she asked him, feeling slightly impatient by their inattention. At this point, both of them were looking past her, as if something far more interesting was going on.

Turning around, Lana suppressed a grin. Darth Nox was standing a short distance away, dark robes engulfing her small frame, and her hood up, shading her features from easy view. The deep hood turned towards Lana, and she saw the sparkle of amused blue eyes in the darkness.

“That’s Darth Nox,” one of the students whispered to the other. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about her.”

“They’re probably lies,” the other student said derisively. “You’re from Ord Mantell. What do you know about Sith?”

“Plenty. People say she’s killed hundreds of people by her own hand.”

Nox glided closer, her silk robes whispering around her booted feet. “That’s nonsense,” she interjected, her sleek, crisp accent bitingly sarcastic. “As if I’d leave behind people to keep an accurate count of the corpses.”

Lana laughed, unable to help herself when she saw the first student blanch at the Inquisitor’s assertion. “Both of you, get back to your exercises. Darth Nox is having a joke at your expense, and you should be paying attention to your footwork instead of boosting her already oversized ego.”

Nox gave Lana an arch look from beneath the draped edge of her hood, her cupid’s bow lips curved into a playful grin. “Boosting a Sith’s ego is always a worthwhile pastime, Lana,” she pointed out in a reasonable tone, her smile widening into a nexu’s hunting expression. Both of the students were enraptured, gazing at the diminutive woman as she paced around them in a slow circle. “But she is right. Show me what you’ve learned. Whomever is the least embarrassing can spar with me.” She folded her arms, and the students looked at each other, then returned to their exercises under the watchful eyes of the two Sith women.

Lana hooked a finger into the edge of the hood, tugging it back so she could see Melisande’s face. “You’re not really going to spar with them, are you?” she asked, feeling a twinge of nervousness at the idea.

“Of course. I’m helping you, aren’t you happy about it?”

“You do know that you can’t -kill- them, right?”

Melisande rolled her eyes expressively, but she laughed in answer. “Of course I know that.” Her saber ignited suddenly as she pulled it from her belt, spinning it slowly and then ramming it abruptly between the two startled students, the double crimson blades humming threateningly. “Stop! You,” she said imperiously, pointing at the first student. “You should be working with a staff. A single blade is too ponderous for you, and you’re quick enough to learn a more complicated style. Someone should have told you that days ago.” Her gaze slid to the second student, “And you..”

Hearing the note of derision in the Inquisitor’s voice, Lana interjected hastily, “Are not quite ready to spar against your current partner. Go back to Sana-Rae and have her reassign you.” Melisande was smiling slyly when the student headed away from them, and Lana pushed her shoulder with one hand, laughing. “I could just about hear what you were about to say, Nox. There’s a reason you aren’t one of the usual instructors.”

“Because it’s a waste of my time?” Nox answered mockingly, patting the student on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, you’re only a waste of my time right now. You could be dangerous, later, if you pay attention and learn quickly. Now, get a saberstaff, and bring it back here.” The student hesitated, glancing at Lana, and she nodded encouragingly, watching him jog away to get the requested saber.

“Why are you helping, Mel?” Lana asked, lowering her voice so no one would hear her but the small Inquisitor by her side. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, or enjoy watching you with your saber. But you’re not entirely wrong.. teaching at this level is quite.. beneath you.”

“Of course it is, they’re terrible. They’d all be dead on Korriban.” Nox’s smile went from predatory to oddly gentle in an instant, and she gazed up at Lana’s golden eyes with affection. “But I made you laugh. It’s worth a little tedium to hear that sound. Especially when I’m the reason for it.” The student appeared, trotting towards them with a double saber hilt in his hand. “Now, don’t ruin my reputation. I can’t have people saying that I do nice things,” Nox warned under her breath, the big blue eyes glimmering with amusement as she turned towards the student and spun her saber.

Lana held up her hands in playful surrender, backing out of the range of the sabers and finding a place to settle down and watch the lesson unfold.


	17. Date In A Cantina (Vector/Nine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine mixes business and pleasure.

Vector sat at a table, alone. The drink in front of him was untouched, though every so often, he’d pick it up and act as if he were drinking from it, just to keep up appearances. He waited, patiently, and after a half an hour, his patience was rewarded.

Tall and slender, a woman passed through the cantina, her body swathed in a heavy cloak. She never glanced in his direction, but she didn’t need to. He was as aware of her aura beneath the cloak as he was at every other time. The feeling of her sang in his Killik-enhanced senses, spice-laden and cool, uniquely her. She walked straight down a hallway and disappeared, clearly there to meet someone. There was nothing unusual in that – cantinas were perfect meeting places for people who wanted to be invisible. No one looked at them, and the clientele had a vested interest in keeping the secrets of anyone else present. The culture of silence made it a perfect place for agents to do what they did best.

He lifted his drink, taking his time. At least this was a decent cantina. Clean, with drinks unsullied by ‘additives’ of any kind. And though he had not partaken of it, the food smelled surprisingly delicious. Vector wondered if that’s why Nine had chosen this location for her task, although he was not yet certain why she had asked him to play the role that Kaliyo often filled.

When he saw her again, she was coming in the front door. For a second time. But this time, unlike the previous entrance, she meant to attract attention. Her statuesque frame was clad in a minuscule top made of glittering silver material that ended just below the curve of her breasts. Dark skin gleamed in the low light, accented by the shimmering silver top, her stomach flat and muscular. Tight charcoal pants ended in a pair of high heeled, calf-high black boots, and Nine’s long, tiny braids were twisted up into a knot at the back of her head. Dark crimson lipstick made it hard to look away from her mouth, even with the eye-catching outfit, and Vector could see everyone in the place looking at her, noticing her.

Vector almost laughed at the cleverness of the painfully simple deception. Who would think of the nobody in the cloak from earlier, and match them with her appearance now? No one. Except him. To him, her aura shone around her like a light, and she could not hide it, no matter what appearance she wore on the outside. She slid into the booth with him, fingers snagging the menu, dragging it over to herself as she moved close to him. He could smell the mossy scent of her soap, fresh and green, and her grey eyes met his solid, black gaze.

“You look quite astonishing, Nine, as always,” he told her quietly, knowing she would hear the admiration in his voice that his eyes could not easily convey. “We are still not quite sure why we are here, instead of Kaliyo. But we are pleased that you chose us to accompany you.”

Nine gave him a smile, slow and amused. The server came by the table, and she ordered, selecting the things he’d pointed out on the menu, as well as a few of her own choices, waiting until the employee was out of earshot before she responded. “You are here because I wanted some time away from the ship, and the crew. Some time for us to talk, and enjoy some food together. I know it’s not -only- us,” she added, her gaze returning to his eyes. “But I thought we could use a night out.”

When she looked at him like that, it seemed to Vector as if the agent was looking into him, seeing all of him, and not only the Joiner. He wasn’t sure why she had never treated him like he was alien to her, even though he clearly was. But he was grateful for it. “It is not, no. Not entirely. But we are glad to have this time with you, Nine. We were not sure you would want such a.. typical evening. But now that we know otherwise, perhaps we will try to arrange such a night together when our schedule allows for it, hmm?”

Vector took her hand in his, and her smile grew slightly flustered, the startlingly grey eyes dropping away from his face for a moment as she regained her composure. He loved that about Nine; when she was working, she was fierce, fearless, bold, and even seductive when the task called for it. But when they were alone, he saw a different side of her. That she let him see her vulnerability was an enormous display of trust, and Vector was well aware that it was something she hid assiduously from everyone else in her life. Lifting her slender fingers to his lips, he laid a kiss across her knuckles, relishing the soft touch of her skin and the flush of heat to her cheeks.

“I should have known that you would be as charming at this as you are in all things, Vector,” Nine observed with a low, quiet laugh. “Ever the diplomat. I do hope there are many more evenings like this one in our future. Though perhaps without the work component, if possible.”

“That is our most sincere hope as well, Nine.”

By the time a body was discovered in one of the private back rooms of the cantina, Vector and Nine had already finished their dinner, and the couple were so wrapped up in each others arms while dancing out in an open space on the floor that they were barely even questioned.


	18. Memento (Arcann/Selirah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann considers the way that Selirah keeps track of moments in her life.

Arcann picked up the heavy ring from the shelf in their room, examining it in minute detail. Ornate and finely made, it was a signet ring, aged and showing signs of tarnish. He remembered Selirah telling him the tale of the ring, and of the mentor to whom it had belonged. Her new master had ordered her to kill the man as a sign of loyalty, and then given her the ring as a memento of the past, so that she would never forget the path that had led her forward.

It was a harsh lesson. Knowing that his father had shaped the Empire as she’d known it, though, Arcann didn’t find it surprising at all. Brutality and pursuit of power had been the only things that had mattered to Valkorian at all. He’d been cruel, manipulative, and controlling, and the scars he had left on every life he’d touched would never heal.

Laying the ring back in its place, Arcann turned to look at Selirah where she lay on the couch, stretched out on her stomach, bare feet hanging off the edge of the cushions. She was watching a holo-drama, and every now and then she would frown, or inhale sharply in surprise, her violet eyes fixed on the small screen in her hands. She had borne the weight of the battles throughout her life with strength and dignity, but even so, his father had nearly killed her and taken her body as his own. The idea of looking into her eyes and seeing his father’s vicious, power-mad gaze looking back at him sickened him enormously. Those scars she wore on the inside, where no one could see them, but she had more than her fair share of physical ones on her skin.

Claw marks from a vorn tiger on Alderaan across her back left shoulder, a glancing mark from a Jedi’s lightsaber under the curve of her ribs. A pair of vibroknife scars that looked like someone had tried to gut her. The scars from blaster burns obtained during Major Quinn’s betrayal of her on a ship near Corellia. All of them were hidden under tattoos, now, black against her red skin. Even the near-fatal memento that he had given her on Asylum, the identical round saber scars from his blade going through her body, was concealed neatly beneath a pair of swirling, solar star tattoos.

Sinking down on the couch beside her hips, Arcann ran his cybernetic fingers over her hip, letting his hand snag in the fabric of the soft, oversized shirt of his that she was wearing so attractively. He saw her head turn slightly, an affectionate smile curving her lips, but she turned back to the holo, her slow, deep breathing making her ribs flex beneath his hand as it glided higher. The fabric followed his fingers, bunching up as it bared her skin, leaving her lean back open to his gaze.

Healing marks lay open to his eyes, slices from train shrapnel, and a painful rash over one hip and the small of her back from impact with the ground at high speed. No tattoos covered these new mementos; they were too fresh. There was a shrapnel cut across the bottom of her tchun, and another at the base of her neck that might scar even with Quinn’s precise, exacting care.

“How do they look?” Selirah asked, pausing the holo and glancing at him.

“They’re healing cleanly. Everything looks healthy.”

“They itch,” she complained mildly, and he smiled, bringing his right hand up to rub carefully around the base of her healing injuries. “Credit for your thoughts, keella? You’re so quiet.”

“It’s nothing too important. Just admiring your tattoos, Seli. Finish your show.” Looking down at her bare back, Arcann ran his fingers over her spine slowly, tracing the tangling scrollwork of her tattoos. Umbara had left its mark, healing on her skin, yet another memento to add to the list.


	19. Wearing Each Other's Clothes (Jaxan/Lyorek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyorek makes a terrible pretend Jedi. I think we all knew that was going to be the case.

“… What… do you have on?”

“I’m meditating, be quiet.”

Jaxan’s mouth twitched upwards, almost a smile. Lyorek knelt in the middle of the room, his normal clothing replaced with tan and cream Jedi robes. The sleeves were a few inches too long, the shoulders a little tight over the Zabrak’s muscular build, and from the way the toes of the boots were bent, they were too big on his feet. When he folded his hands neatly into the capacious sleeves, affecting a very pious expression on his crimson and black face, Jaxan gave in and started to laugh.

“You look ridiculous.”

Lyorek opened one red-gold eye, fixing Jaxan with a very obviously fabricated look of serenity. “I look amazing. Like a veritable bastion of the light side. I can almost feel the tolerant, boring glow surrounding me even as we speak. I feel like aiding the needy.” He smiled beatifically at the Jedi, and Jaxan snorted in amusement. “Let me use your lightsaber. I need the total effect.”

“No, you cannot borrow my lightsaber just so you can more effectively make fun of me,” Jax protested. “You don’t look like a Jedi just because you’re wearing my clothes.”

“I bet I could fool a few people. I don’t think you would do a passable job at all of imitating -me-,” the Inquisitor boasted, a sly grin eradicating the faux sweet smile he’d been wearing like a mask. He bounced up easily onto his feet, the too-large boots comically loose. “All I have to do is spout platitudes and look disapproving if anyone is having fun nearby. I could totally do it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jaxan slipped his robe off his shoulders, tossing it onto the back of the chair. “Alright, you can play Jedi, and I’ll play Sith, and we’ll see who is the most believable.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lyo crowed, flopping backwards onto Jaxan’s bed and propping himself up on his elbows, legs dangling over the side. “I can show you how to use lightning. And unlike your rude Jedi attitude about your lightsaber, -I- am a giver, and you can borrow mine. Just don’t cut anything off either of us in the process.”

Jaxan laughed, hopping on one foot as he pulled his pants off. “I’ll do my best not to dismember you, Lyo.” He could feel the Zabrak’s gaze on him as he started to dress in his clothes, finding them a challenging fit. Unlike his clothing, which was made for a taller frame and thus fit Lyorek fairly well, the Inquisitor was shorter, if not by much. The pants were a little high on the leg, and the tunic and robe slightly short above his wrists, but Jaxan hid both deficiencies, one with Lyo’s high boots and the other with some black gloves.

Lyorek’s double-bladed saber hilt lay on the bed, and the Sith merely grinned when he lifted it, activating the blades. They growled into life, crimson blades humming, and Jaxan spun it in an awkward circle.

“Put the hood up, Jax. I want the full effect.”

There was heat in Lyo’s voice. Jaxan could hear it, and there was nothing of a Jedi in the look the Zabrak had leveled on him. He lifted the dark hood, settling the heavy fabric over his head, letting the cowl shroud his face. This time, when he spun the heavy blade, he managed to make it look more elegant and less like he was about to cut off his own foot.

For once, Lyorek didn’t seem to have anything to say. He just lay there, sprawled comfortably on the bed in that inexpressibly seductive way he had, the bland beige of his robes doing nothing to lessen the impact to Jaxan’s eye. Watching Lyo through the dark frame of his hood, Jaxan paced slowly back and forth, spinning the Zabrak’s lightsaber, getting accustomed to the grip and feel of it. It was silly to say that he felt something of Lyorek’s mindset while wearing his clothes. But it did feel.. different. Luxurious, and intimidating. Enticing. “How do I look? Dangerous? Evil? Terrifying?”

Lyo was oddly silent, his red-gold eyes slowly taking in the entire picture. Jaxan started to feel foolish under his unrelenting gaze, and he deactivated the lightsaber, watching the blades disappear. He looked down at the hilt in his hands, a frown crossing his face as he took in the design. “Lyo… did you make your lightsaber?” he asked.

Jaxan didn’t see the other man move, but suddenly his back was grinding painfully against the wall, and Lyorek had one hand up under his jaw, strong fingers wrapped around his throat. He could feel the needle edges of his nails against his skin, and Jax closed his eyes, a shiver of fear mingling with the sudden awakening of desire. Lyorek’s body pressed against his, pinning the Jedi between the Zabrak and the wall. 

“You look tempting.” Lyo’s fingers tightened, his index finger pressing against Jaxan’s pulse, feeling it leap in response. “You look.. enticing.” His lips brushed against Jax’s chin, and his sharp teeth nipped lightly at his skin. “And no. I didn’t make it.”

Opening his eyes, Jaxan gazed into Lyorek’s face. “Where did you get it?” He knew the answer. He’d been told about what sometimes happened to the lightsabers of Jedi who fell to Sith. But Lyorek’s expression didn’t change at all in response to the question. No guilt, no concern, no embarrassment, no shame. He smiled ever so sweetly, and his red-gold eyes met Jaxan’s dark eyes without a flinch.

“It was a gift from my master.”

“Nox?”

“She wasn’t Darth Nox yet.. she was still a Lord when she chose me.” Lyorek’s words were muffled, his lips pressed against Jax’s jaw, trailing slow, lazy kisses over his skin, making it hard to argue when he changed the subject. “I like how you look in my robes, Jax. Black suits you. You should wear it more often.”

“Jedi robes don’t suit you.” Jaxan smiled teasingly, and Lyo pushed the hood back slowly, his fingers gliding through the Jedi’s blonde hair.

“Don’t they? Maybe I should take them off, then.”

“That’s a very good idea.”

“I have a few more good ideas. Come here.. I’ll show you.” Lyorek backed away, releasing Jaxan and peeling off his robe, letting it slide to the floor.

Maybe it was the Sith robes, or maybe it was just the sight of the Zabrak slowly stripping off his clothes on his way to the bed, but Jaxan couldn’t think of a single objection. He could hear the whisper of caution in his mind, reminding him that he was on a dangerous path, but he pushed it aside as he had so often since meeting Lyorek on Iokath.

The temptation was just too strong to resist.


	20. Taking Care Of Each Other (Arcann/Selirah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcann is not paying attention at all during a meeting, and it's messing with Selirah's attentiveness too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I -could- have taken this prompt in a sweet sort of way but I took it the taking … care… of each other.. way. *wiggles eyebrows suggestively* *cough* Anyway. Yeah. Smut. Or.. rather.. thinking about screwing during a meeting when you’re supposed to be paying attention.
> 
> As one does. 
> 
> With bonus Lyorek appearance. <3

The scout on the holo was talking to Jorgan and Lana about his assignment, and Selirah was perched on the railing behind the holotable, booted feet hooked behind one of the bars for balance. Her arms were resting on her knees, and she was looking through the image of the Alliance soldier, her eyes unfocused with obvious boredom.

Arcann shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, keeping her in sight in the corner of his gaze, though he dared not look directly at her. No one currently in the room had any idea what was going on between them, and he knew she didn’t want anyone finding out. Not yet. So he kept his eyes mostly to himself, his hands to himself; but while he might have to obey those strictures, she couldn’t stop him from thinking about where they’d been a few hours ago.

_He held her against the tree outside the back of the base, her back pressed against the rough bark. One hand undressing her slowly, the other over her mouth, he watched her eyes, the pupils dilating in excitement as he’d stripped her clothing away piece by piece, baring her crimson skin to his sight. He’d come so close to losing her on Darvannis, and the connection between them had flared into a powerful link that had pulled them together shortly afterwards. They both knew sneaking around like this was wrong, but these moments together were too strong a draw to ignore._

The scout was gone, and there was another section of briefing going on with one of the captains in another sector of the Alliance-controlled space. Selirah was paying closer attention to this one, but he caught her glancing at him once or twice. He wondered if she thought about being with him the way he did. If she was as distracted by the memories of the stolen moments between them.

_They were rarely gentle with each other. Something in their connection was so animalistic, an almost violent desire that demanded expression through bruisingly tight fingers, nail marks on skin. He’d loved the way she’d gasped when he’d ground her against the bark of the tree as he drove his cock between her legs, holding her up with his arms under her knees. For all of Selirah’s earlier protests about someone seeing them if they came out of the base to look for them, she wasn’t quiet once her passion was aroused. It was satisfying to him to hear her whimper into his mouth in mingled pain and desire, to feel her nails biting into his back, leaving red lines against his skin. Even more satisfying to feel her tense helplessly as she spilled over the edge into climax, hips bucking while she came in his arms, biting her lower lip to muffle a throaty cry of pleasure._

Realizing his eyes were closed, Arcann straightened, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed his preoccupation. No one seemed to be looking at him, except Selirah. Her violet eyes were narrowed, and he noticed the way her hands were locked together, fingers pale at the tension in them. He smiled deliberately at her, letting her feel what he was thinking and see it on his face, and she defensively jerked her gaze away from his. He could feel the spike of emotion from her, quickly hidden. Passion. Frustration.

If she hadn’t known what he was thinking about before, she certainly did now. He could see the flustered expression on her face, the way she was twisting her fingers together as she tried to focus on the conversation.

_The last time they’d stolen some time together, it’d been rushed. Furtive. Arcann wasn’t going to let her go that easily this time, and Selirah didn’t seem to want to leave, either. They’d been gone from the base over an hour already, and both of them knew that someone would start looking for her soon if she didn’t return. But she had him on his back, her hips rising and falling over his as she rode him, and he had his hands full of the firm curves of her ass, and he wasn’t about to suggest that they stop._

_Her hands on his chest, her mouth on his, hot and demanding. His hands on her skin, feeling the warmth of her on him, over him, wrapped around his cock with a delicious intimacy that drove him crazy with need. Arcann arched his hips, pulling her down onto him, listening to her gasp and moan, feeling how tight she was and how perfect they felt together. He’d thought he was controlling things, guiding her movements with his hands. Then she’d done something toe-curlingly lust-inducing with her hips and flexed her muscles impossibly around his cock, and he’d lost the control that now he was starting to think he’d never had in the first place. Fingers digging into her hips, he held her down over him, burying himself in her as deeply as possible, feeling the pleasure twist his emotions into knots when he came with a ragged, satisfied growl._

The look on Selirah’s face now was nothing short of desperate, and without a single glance at him, she excused herself from the briefing with some explanation about needing some more caf to keep awake. Arcann watched her go, then turned back to the meeting only to find Lyorek staring at him from across the room. The Zabrak Inquisitor had a smirk on his face, and a knowing look in his bright red-gold eyes. The moment the meeting was over, Arcann turned to leave, trying to beat a hasty retreat before Lyorek caught up to him, but the Sith was beside him suddenly on near silent feet.

“Let’s have a drink, hmm?” Lyo suggested, a note of mockery tangling around each word. “I have a feeling you have some -very- juicy gossip to share with me.”

“No,” Arcann told him flatly, and the Zabrak laughed, giving him a flirtatious wink, not disappointed in the least by the refusal.

“I’ll take that as a confirmation of my theory. How interesting!” Arcann reached for him abruptly, but Lyorek flowed out of reach with ease, still laughing in that maddening way. “Now now, let’s not be violent. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Don’t glower at me like that. I’ll be silent as the grave.”

“See that you are. She wouldn’t take it very well if you spilled her private business everywhere. And I’d make certain she knew it came from you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” The Zabrak made an elaborate ‘locking his lips’ gesture with one hand, and as quickly as he’d appeared next to Arcann, was gone.

It would have been a lot more reassuring if Lyorek wasn’t the biggest gossip in the Alliance, but he was just going to have to hope that the Inquisitor’s healthy respect for (and fear of) Selirah would be enough to keep him quiet.

At least, for now. But the secret was going to get out, sooner or later. Privately, Arcann hoped for sooner.


	21. Interrupted By A Droid (Kallyn/Scourge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallyn finds herself in a strange situation.

She didn’t realize how much she’d enjoyed his silent company each evening until the night that he didn’t come to her door. Lord Scourge’s understanding of her need for someone’s quiet presence during the dark hours of her nights had proven to be a surprise; as much of a surprise as the knowledge that she had found his patient attendance comforting. 

For over a week, he had come every night when the ship was quiet. He never spoke to her, and she never spoke to him. Yet it was soothing to know that he was there while she meditated, or that he was nearby when the shame and grief over her time in the Emperor’s iron control overwhelmed her serenity. He never said anything about what she did, or what he could sense from her, but he made certain that she was not alone.

An hour had gone by past his usual arrival before she realized he might not be coming at all. She’d been trying to meditate, but tonight, her thoughts were too chaotic, too anxious for her to settle her mind into the calm patterns necessary for her to let herself sink completely into the embrace of the force. Some part of her, Kallyn realized, was waiting for him to walk into her room. Listening for his heavy, booted tread, the familiar sound of his armor, and the whispering sweep of his cloak across the floor. Without his protective bulk by her side, the flashes of painful memories and whisper of the Emperor’s cruel voice felt impossible to drive away.

Kallyn waited for another hour, futilely reaching for the presence of mind to let herself meditate and push the nightmares away. Then she rose to her feet, pulling a thick, woven cream robe around her shoulders, ignoring the way her hands shook as she braided her chestnut hair down her back and tied off the end with a scrap of cloth.

Leaving her room at all was.. strangely difficult. She wanted to stay there, safe behind the walls and the door, insulated from the outside world and the concerns of her crew and the galaxy as a whole. But the realization that she wanted to hide was enough of a goad to make her touch the door panel and open it, forcing herself to take the first step outside into the body of the ship. 

Onward, another step and another, the Jedi made her way across the walkway, to the doorway that led down. She could sense his presence, distant and powerful, and she knew he was aware of her as well. His anticipation sang in her mind, and she froze, wondering if he had planned this all along. If he had only watched over her nights to make her crave his presence.

 _No one will ever control me again._ Her fingers tightened on the door frame, nails biting painfully into the metal. There was more there than anticipation, though. She could feel his uncertainty, hesitation. It was why he hadn’t come to her. Not to force her to come to him… but because he didn’t understand why he felt driven to comfort her in her pain. He was not going to hide if she came to find him, but he’d stayed away out of confusion over his own motivations.

That was a feeling that she could sympathize with, sadly.

Kallyn walked down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the treads. The robe sleeves fell down around her hands, hiding all but the tips of her fingers from view, the coarsely-woven fabric swallowing her up and the hem trailing behind her. His door was there, just in front of her. Mere feet away. She had no idea what she would say to him, or whether or not he would even welcome her.

 _Time = Very late // Jedi = Cannot sleep?_ The astromech’s perky beeps and whistles cut into her determination, and Kallyn jerked in guilty surprise, turning to look down at the droid.

“You’re right, it’s late, Tee Seven,” she answered. Tucking her hands into the loose sleeves of her robe to keep them warm, Kallyn managed a small, wan smile, green eyes darting once towards the empty doorway to Scourge’s quarters. “I was just making one last round before I go to bed.”

 _Jedi = Not worry about ship // T7-01 = vigilant!_ The droid spun in excitement, and despite herself, the Jedi felt a more genuine smile curve her lips.

“I know I need never worry about that, Tee Seven. Thank you for keeping watch. Goodnight!”

T7 beeped a cheery farewell behind her as she turned and headed back up the stairs. Kallyn could feel disappointment fill her mind, but she was not entirely sure if it was her own, or Scourge’s.

For tonight, it was clear, she would have to find a way to make it through on her own.


	22. I Love You (Kylena/Seryan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Kylena Arrived On Coruscant And Became A Jedi: or The Future Darth Cynera Was Evil Even As A Kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long. Idk. This happens to me a lot.
> 
> Idea came to me today and I typed it out today and here it is. 
> 
> Seryan and Cynera made appearances in Collateral Damages as the psycho Darth who stole Theron and her brother who talked sense into her. Briefly.
> 
> Kylena is new in this story.

They had been children together on the massive Dromund Kaas estate that belonged to his family. She remembered him, tall and dark-haired, with bright green eyes, although that was not what she saw when she looked at him. He’d pulled her into a game one day with his sister and some of the servants’ children, and she’d never forgotten the sensation of his hand around hers, or the way he shone to her senses. As they’d grown up together, they’d grown closer, even become a strange sort of friends.

She was not like him. He was the eldest child in a powerful Sith family, and his life’s trajectory was laid out neatly before him. Wealth, education, influence – his estate was staffed heavily with slaves and servants, soldiers for defense, the best in technology and luxury. She was just one of their many possessions. She was an alien. A Miraluka in the heart of the Empire, and a slave, and of negligible value. Easily replaced.

He’d never been cruel to her, despite her status and her race. Curious, yes, about how she saw without eyes, and what she saw, and what it was like to see through the force. His sister had no such compunction, though, and Kylena learned quickly to avoid her whenever she could. It started small, with pushes, shoves. Then her behavior became more vicious. Caught alone one day on the stairs, she felt his sister’s hand on the small of her back, giving a violent shove. She fell, her arms full of linens that she was delivering to the housekeeping staff, and tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. His sister laughed, but when he found her a few moments later, he helped her up and checked her for injuries, then insisted on carrying the linens for her.

Kylena knew he was not necessarily kind, not to everyone. She’d seen him lose his temper, seen his banked rage flare to life, and had witnessed the effects of it on other servants and tutors. With her, however, he was always gentle. He began to watch out for her after the incident on the stairs, protecting for her, making certain his sister wasn’t tormenting her or singling her out for abuse. She felt ashamed that she was glad of it; others were not so lucky to have drawn his interest, and they lacked the protection that she had. Her mother seemed worried about his interest, ascribing a darker motive to his attention, but she was powerless to deny him. A slave could not say no to their master’s son or tell him to stay away from her daughter; it would have been a death sentence.

Some days, though, Kylena would catch his sister watching them together, and she felt the malice and hatred of the other girl like a miasma. It made her afraid.

He brought her a lovely draped silk mask, replacing the dirty, torn cloth she had been using up until then. They sat together outside on one of the few days where it wasn’t raining, under the trees, and he fastened it carefully around her head, arranging her ebony hair so that the mask did not pull at the strands or hurt her. “Better?” he asked, his tone gentle, and she smiled, touching it shyly. The fabric was so soft and rich. She had never had anything so expensive against her skin, and it felt so delicate.

“Thank you. You shouldn’t have, though.. your sister..”

His jaw tensed, and he looked away from her for a moment. She watched him silently, wishing she was different. More like him. He would go away soon, to the Academy on Korriban, and he would forget about the slave girl from his childhood. His sister would follow, most likely, a short time later. Both of them had already shown some aptitude in the force, and the only reason they had not been instantly swept away was due to their family name and the fact that it was a given that they would attend. But every day that time grew closer, and she clutched these moments to herself like jewels, jealously hoarding every second she was alone with him.

“I’m sorry. I know how she is. But when I’m gone, she won’t have a reason to hate you so much. She doesn’t like it that I talk to you, spend time with you. Perhaps I shouldn’t. It might be better if I just ignored you, avoided you.” He turned towards her again, and she gazed at him, feeling something deep in her soul reach out, starving for the emotion she could see swirling inside him. “I can’t make myself do it, even though I know I should.”

She was not a child anymore. Not really. Slaves did not hold on to their childish innocence for long, and she had been lucky so far, sheltered from many of the horrors that they faced. But she was young, and he was young, and neither of them knew how to articulate clearly what they felt. Her attachment to him felt so strong, and she could see that he felt it too. “I wish you weren’t leaving.”

“It’s an honor, going to Korriban to train. Bloodline, family.. it’s very important. I must go. My father and mother are counting on me, and on my sister. We must excel. There’s no other option.” He sounded apologetic, even disappointed, and he took one of her hands in his, lifting it, examining her slender fingers. She knew the nails were chipped and dirty, that she had healing scabs and bruises, that it was not a lady’s hand. Not like the women he would be introduced to, the women he’d be expected to choose from to continue his family’s dynasty. She was nothing, a slave. But he looked at her hand like it was elegant, perfect, and he smiled at her over it, holding her hand so lightly in his. “I’ll be back. I’ll be strong then, and Sith. I’ll be able to protect you.”

Kylena felt her heart stumble, aglow in the light of his regard. Some part of her didn’t believe him. She knew he would leave, and he would never think of her again. She would be a memory that would fade in the glitter of his life beyond the walls. But her heart ignored her common sense, leaping anyway. “You will forget me, Sery. You’ll be Sith, and I’ll just be a slave girl. I doubt we’ll ever speak again.”

“Yes we will, Ky. I won’t forget you. I never could.”

His father called for him a few minutes later, and he left her under the trees. As she headed back inside more slowly, holding the memory of his words, his sister broke into her reverie, meeting her at the door. “When he’s gone, there won’t be anyone to protect you from me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “He will never know, and he won’t care. He’ll never come looking for you again. You’re nothing to him, and nothing to me, slave.”

Kylena sidestepped around the other girl, careful not to meet her eyes. Her shoulder blades itched with the desire to run, to escape, but like any wise prey animal, she knew better than to attract the predator by sudden movement. She walked away, expecting an attack at any moment, but it never came.

She thought the time before he left would be quiet, devoid of incident. It frightened her, because she believed his sister meant what she’d said. If she held her temper, he would go, and Kylena knew she would be trapped then, with no one to protect her from his sister’s anger. The family held several large-scale social parties leading up to the day of his departure, and one of them ran very late into the early hours of the morning. Trudging back to her room, exhausted and half-asleep, Kylena didn’t notice that she was not alone in the dark hallway until the smaller girl hurtled into her from a shadowed alcove, slamming her against the wall and knocking the air out of her lungs.

She gasped for breath, trying to shout for help, but his sister only smiled at her. She lifted her hand, and Kylena felt an unseen power lift her off her feet, like a hand was wrapped around her throat. Choking, she kicked her feet, her lips parted on a silent cry for mercy. “This is for him, you know,” his sister told her coldly, her eyes fixed, like a maddened animal, sick and vicious. “He needs to learn. You are less than nothing compared to him. He should not care about you. Your life is meaningless. Less than mother’s akk dogs. I could feed you to them and no one would care. No one but Seryan, and he will learn quickly not to show such a weakness to anyone at the Academy. I am his sister,” she continued conversationally, her fingers tightening, gaze avid on the frantically kicking Miraluka’s thrashing body. “I must protect him from anyone who would bring him down. Make him less than what he should be.”

Kylena could barely hear her voice over the pounding of the blood in her ears. The panic spun through her body, terror telling her that she was going to die if she didn’t get free. She felt herself sinking inside her mind, drawing in, pulling everything that was part of her into a compressed ball, and then she _pushed_ as hard as she could. She heard the other girl hit the wall, and the sound of footsteps running, skidding to a stop beside her. A hand touched her, and she flinched away in fear, and something from within her pushed the hand away, a barrier springing up around her. It only lasted a moment before it flickered out and left her undefended, but as she turned and saw Seryan looking down at her, she could see the shock in his face and feel it in his surface thoughts. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice faltering, breaking between his usual, higher voice, and the lower timbre that prefaced the man he would become. “Ky.. did she hurt you?”

She could see his sister crumpled on the far side of the hallway, unconscious, and knew she had to get out before Cynera woke up and came to find her again. “Sery, take me with you, take me to the Academy. I can take care of you, serve you there. I can cook, clean, please.. don’t leave me here. She’ll kill me, you know she will!” The hysteria in her voice rang in the hallway, and he reached for her again, pulling her into his arms, his hands smoothing her tangled dark hair, soothing her. “Please don’t leave me here!”

“I can’t take you.. they would never let me bring you there. And you would be in danger there, far more than even here,” he whispered, his cheek brushing against her hair. She could feel his regret, his fear for her, and he glanced at his sister worriedly. “Listen, Ky. I’m going to get you out. I’ll put you on a flight out. I’ll send you off planet. You’ll be free.”

“You can’t do that.. your father would never allow it,” Kylara protested, shocked even as the thrill of the idea of freedom sang to her mind. Freedom.. belonging only to herself. But he would be gone, lost to her. She would never see him again.

“Let’s go. Get your things. I’ll take you to the spaceport. I’ll get you out of here. Meet me at the speeders in fifteen minutes. Hurry, Ky. Pack lightly.”

“My mother..” she began, but she could feel him balking at the idea, worried that they would be caught. Her heart sank. “I can’t leave her.”

“She’ll be safe. I’ll free her when I come home again. It’s you that has to get out of here. Cyn is going to kill you, you’re right.. I see that now. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” He lifted her to her feet, his fingers gently checking her throat, a frown on his face. “I’m so sorry. She could have killed you. I should have been here. Now go, I’ll take Cyn to her room and meet you out there. Go!”

She ran towards her room without looking behind herself, but she could feel his eyes on her back as she fled down the hallway.

He didn’t tell her what he had to do to find the records of her purchase as a slave, or how he’d changed them. But he was waiting for her with all the documents she needed, and she held his waist tightly as they flew on the speeder through the jungle, racing to the spaceport. Her mother had grieved, clinging to Kylena for long moments before she’d allowed her to leave, but she had agreed to the plan.

They barely made the shuttle going off world, and she flung her arms around him, her heart breaking at the reality that she might never see her mother again, that she’d have to hope that he would keep his promise to free her someday when he returned after his training. And him.. Seryan. “Thank you for helping me. For freeing me. I wish you’d come with me. You can’t really want to go to Korriban, to be a Sith?”

Seryan smiled sadly at her. “I will be Sith, Ky. I was always going to be Sith. I know you think they’re all like Cynera, but they’re not. Someday I’ll find you again, you’ll see. We’ll see each other again. This isn’t goodbye forever.” He pulled her closer, his arms strong as he lifted her to his eye level, knowing that the way she saw him was completely different from what he saw when he looked at her. Bruised and scared though she was, she was strong, and he knew she would be safe as long as she was far away from his sister. “You have two trips.. one to Nar Shaddaa, and from there, to Coruscant. Find some Jedi.. tell them that you need to be trained. They will see.. what I see. They’ll know what to do.”

She nodded, overwhelmed, her arms twined around his shoulders, fingers sliding into his dark hair at the nape of his neck. “Find the Jedi. But if I’m a Jedi, and you’re a Sith.. we can’t find each other again. We’d be enemies,” she realized.

“I’ll find you. I will.” He rested his forehead against hers, feeling the sleek touch of the silk mask he’d given her. “I would never hurt you, Jedi or not. I love you.”

Kylena bit her lip, afraid to answer. What good would it do to tell him? He was going to be a Sith, and regardless of what happened to her, she would never be like him, never be someone who could be with him. She could practically hear her mother’s voice in her mind, telling her they were just children, that they had a lot of growing up to do. That things change when you grow up. “Don’t say that. We’ll probably never see each other again, and I don’t want you to think you have made some kind of foolish promise to a slave girl that you’ll probably have no desire to keep.”

“A free girl. You are free, Ky. Not a slave. And I mean it. I love you, and I’ll free your mother, and find you. Now get on board before they leave without you.” Seryan bundled her onto the shuttle, pressing some credits into her hands, his lips brushing her forehead and then briefly pressing against her lips in a farewell kiss that tingled on her skin.

He was the last thing she saw of Dromund Kaas, as the shuttle lifted away from the landing pad and rose into the atmosphere, and she stayed at the window, her hands pressed to the glass until long after he was gone from view. 

“I love you, too.”


	23. Similarities & Differences (Lana/Nox)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Nox in a quiet moment.

The comb slid through the length of Nox’s hair, wide-toothed so it didn’t catch or snag in the strands. The Inquisitor closed her eyes briefly in enjoyment, letting herself take a moment to appreciate the sensation. Lana had washed her hair and dried it, mindful of Nox’s injuries and comfort, and then had spent nearly an hour working out tangles and just soothingly combing the nearly thigh-length blonde mass. It was silk, now, flowing through Lana’s fingers when she touched it, and she seemed to have no desire to stop since Nox was so amenable to being taken care of right now.

“Why do you keep it so long?” Lana asked curiously, the comb gliding back through slowly in her hand. “It’s beautiful, but I’ve always wondered.”

“It was short when I was a child, always short. Hacked off, mostly. Lice, nits, lots of vermin would take up residence, and it was easier to deal with if it was short. I had no choice in the matter.. no slave did. The masters would just order it cut and have us treated for infestations when it suited them. The rest of the time we’d itch and be covered in filth and bites.” Nox’s recitation was flat, her voice cool. She flipped through the notes that Jaxan had sent her, skimming over the translations and categorized relics. “When I was taken into the Academy, I stopped cutting it. I grew it out to my shoulders, and it was so easy to do when I could wash every day, and slept on clean sheets. Then it was down past my shoulders, then to my lower back.. and so on. I suppose I felt like it was a sign of freedom.”

“You cut it now, don’t you?” She touched the ends, feeling the neatly blunt strands, her fingers brushing over them slowly as Nox glanced at her over her shoulder.

“Yes. A sign of freedom can become a liability. I like it at this length. Any longer and it would hinder me.” Nox smiled, shifting slowly on her bed, twisting a lock around her finger slowly, then unwinding it.

Lana moved the pillows arrayed around her, plumping them and making sure they supported her healing body. The doctors had said she could start sitting up, and soon try walking again, but they wanted her to go slowly and these quiet hair sessions had been a desperate attempt to keep the Inquisitor still for a few more days while she grew stronger. But now, Lana found that she rather enjoyed the time spent together in such a mundane, and calming task. She didn’t have to think about her duties or the work piling up outside this door on her desk, and Melisande could relax and enjoy her company and the sensation of clean, untangled hair despite being unable to wash herself while she recovered.

Lana divided the hair down the middle, parting it neatly with the comb, and laid one section over Nox’s shoulder, plaiting the second half neatly. “I never thought of it quite that way, but.. I suppose I keep mine short for a similar reason. I never knew how to do all the things you do with yours, and it seemed so much simpler to just cut it and keep it at a length where it didn’t require any particular style. It’s not in the way, it looks neat and is easy to care for, so I’m free to focus on everything else.”

She pinned the braid up over the crown of Nox’s head, pining the end securely where it would be concealed when she braided the second half, and began that task. The silky golden strands plaited together smoothly, forming a sleek rope that she pinned up over the other side of Nox’s head, making a crown of the braids.

“Thank you for helping me, Lana.” The simple words were accompanied by a smile, genuine and warm, and Nox beckoned to Lana to get her to bend closer. Her hand slid around the back of Lana’s neck, under the pale blond of her short hair, and her lips met Lana’s in a soft, relatively chaste kiss. Both of them knew that there was no possibility of more until Nox was fully healed, but it didn’t stop the Inquisitor from stealing kisses whenever they were alone, something that Lana enjoyed immensely.

Ever since they’d moved into Lana’s chambers, things had been different; better. Nox was still difficult, and still different in her views on relationships and love. But they had similarities too, more of them than either had realized.


	24. Dancing (Jaxan/Lyorek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaxan goes looking for an absentee Lyorek, and finds some insecurity.

Jaxan rarely went to the cantina in the evenings. He knew he was pushing his limits badly enough just being in the same room as Lyorek on a regular basis. Hanging out in the frequently rowdy and licentious night time crowd seemed like a recipe for disaster to the Jedi. But it was late, and he hadn’t seen Lyorek for most of the day. Not in passing, not from a distance; not at all. It was unusual for the Inquisitor to be even slightly low-key.. it wasn’t as if Lyo was a quiet or mousy individual.. and if he was honest, it stung a little that the Zabrak hadn’t come looking for him at least once during the day.

That had resulted in the current situation, where Jaxan found himself lingering awkwardly near the bar of the cantina, jockeying for space with drunken soldiers and pilots, watching dark-clad Sith entangled sensually with their chosen partners out on the dance floor before drifting away to the quieter rooms attached to the main sections of the bar. He’d been looking for some time now, but though it seemed nearly everyone in the Alliance was up here letting off steam, he hadn’t seen Lyorek.

The music was ear-shatteringly loud, a throbbing, suggestive beat with almost no words to it at all. A Mirialan pilot came up, scooping up a tray full of shots as Jaxan finally reached the bar, raising his voice enough to be heard. One of the Imperials on one of the stools nearby jerked his thumb at the Mirialan girl carrying the tray. “Follow her, you’ll find that Zabrak. Tell him to quit monopolizing all the good ones, would you?”

Jaxan looked at the pilot, gliding her way through the crowded room with the tray balanced on one hand. Apprehension rolled through his mind, and he trailed after her, afraid to lose sight of the woman in the crowd. Jaxan pushed down the feeling of unease, trying to bury it. A flash of red skin and white armor in a darkened corner caught his eye briefly, and he saw Selirah wrapped up with Arcann at a small table, their heads close together, so completely focused on each other that neither of them noticed him, or anyone else as far as he could tell. He slipped past them, watching the green-skinned pilot reach a small table on the wall and deposit the tray there.

She picked up one of the shots and slammed it, picking up a second one and heading into a knot of intertwined dancers on the floor. The music echoed in this room, bouncing off the stone walls and feeling like a pounding heartbeat that all the bodies were moving with in sync. The mass of dancers parted for the pilot, admitting her and then oozing closed like a living thing, and Jaxan came closer, his height giving him a better vantage point. He couldn’t tell who was in the group; it was dark, barely lit in this section, and half the people on the dance floor were wearing dark grey or black or brown clothing.

He saw the Mirialan reach one black-clad dancer, and she draped herself over him as he turned. Lyorek gave her a wide, inviting smile, then opened his mouth for the shot as she poured it straight in between his lips. Everyone around them cheered as a new song started, and Lyorek pulled the pilot against him, her arms sliding around his shoulders. The crowd closed around them again, and Jaxan could barely see him in the seething group of moving bodies.

It was strange. Jax couldn’t categorize the feeling twisting in his belly, but it felt like something he didn’t want to look at very closely. He knew he could push his way in, find Lyo among all the others, and that the Zabrak would be happy to see him. That Lyo would just pull him in the same way that he had the pilot, and be charmingly excited to dance with the Jedi too. But something about that idea made him feel sick, and uncertain about his place with the Sith.

He knew, rationally, that Lyorek wasn’t doing anything but dancing and having fun, and that this was his personality. He didn’t even want him to change, not really. Lyorek came into view again, dancing with two other people now, a handsome male Togruta who worked with Lana, and a Twi'lek woman with beautiful blue skin. Jaxan just watched, resentful and not sure why he felt the way he did. Lyorek’s effusive pleasure in every aspect of life was a huge part of his appeal and charm; there was no reason to feel hurt, or angry. Or worried. So they hadn’t seen each other today. It didn’t mean Lyorek was getting tired of him, or that he’d started to pull away.

Turning around, Jaxan left the room, making his way slowly through the crush of dancers on the main floor as he headed for the exit. He was being paranoid, he told himself firmly.

There was nothing to worry about.


	25. Comfortable Silence (Quinn/Selirah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn finds Selirah hiding from her problems. 
> 
> Featuring bonus Lyorek.

“Looking for the boss?” Lyorek’s drawling voice brushed against Quinn’s ear like an overly friendly cat, a comparison that was equally apt to the way the Inquisitor was hanging over a nearby railing as if he lacked bones, his red-gold eyes amused. “I know where she is.”

Quinn eyed the Zabrak warily. He knew Lyorek well enough to realize that freely offered information was rarely going to be given without some kind of string attached, or a joke at his expense. But the base was large, and Selirah was adept at concealing herself when she wanted to avoid being troubled by the needs of the Alliance. “I am looking for her, yes,” he admitted.

The Sith waited for a moment, but when Quinn failed to actually -ask- him for her location, he laughed. “Clever. You know that I want you to ask.” Lyorek shifted his weight slightly, resting his cheek on one hand, his elbow resting on the edge of the railing, and Quinn resisted the urge to sigh impatiently at the vain Zabrak’s showboating. There was no point in trying to push for the information that he wanted, however. If he did, Lyo would only hide it for longer, just to amuse himself at the Imperial’s expense.

The key was to bore him until it was no longer fun.

“Of course you do,” Quinn agreed patiently, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t react in any other way, content to wait until Lyo found something better to entertain him.

“You aren’t going to indulge me, Major Quinn? How tiresome.” Lyorek made a sulky face, but Quinn knew he’d won when the Inquisitor began to look fidgety. People who didn’t react to his behavior were impossible for him to charm or annoy, and he usually gave up soon afterwards in order to find someone more susceptible to his dubious sense of humor. “She’s in the Fury.”

It seemed like he’d gotten what he needed, but there was a look in the sunset-hued eyes of the Zabrak that made Quinn think perhaps there was a bit more to discover. “Thank you, Lyorek.”

Lyo sighed audibly, straightening into a less obviously flirtatious stance, mimicking Quinn’s military stiffness with a mocking exactitude. “She didn’t seem like she was much in the mood for company,” he added finally, and turned away in a rather dramatic swirl of black robes to head inside.

Suppressing a twitch of his lips that threatened to turn into a triumphant smile, Quinn went the opposite direction, heading towards the looming dark bulk of Selirah’s ship. The interior was quiet, the ramp down, and he walked inside without hesitating. She wasn’t in her private quarters, which was the first place he thought to check. Walking up the steps to the cockpit, he saw the Twi'lek sitting sideways in her chair, her back towards him and the door.

For a moment, it was as if no time had passed, and he was seeing her on Balmorra when she’d take him into her crew. The first time she’d let him pilot this ship, she’d sat just like that, legs hanging over the arm of the seat, her violet gaze fixed on him while he’d guided her ship out of the spaceport. It’d been nerve-wracking, and exhilarating, to be free at last, even though he hadn’t realized how much his life would change the moment she came into it.

Now here they were, with so much time and emotion and complicated past between them, and she looked the same to his eyes, her feet swinging idly.

“I hope this is a social call, Malavai.”

Her low, bemused voice startled him out of his reverie, and Quinn entered the room fully, a flush of heat touching his cheeks at having been caught woolgathering. “Yes, it is. I was just concerned when I didn’t see you in the base anywhere.” Out of habit, he crossed to his old post and leaned against the wall, glancing at her curiously. “Why are you out here?”

Selirah glanced down at her hands. “I just wanted to be alone. That’s all.”

“Are you sure? Lately you’ve been very quiet, and you have been avoiding everyone. Even Arcann.”

“And you, too?” she asked, her violet eyes thoughtful. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say about it, except that it’s been difficult to be under everyone’s eyes since Lana and I returned from Umbara. I’m tired, and there’s so much to worry about. I don’t have any answers for people and I can see the questions in their faces, and hear them whispering.”

Quinn saw her fingers shift, knotting together. Not for the first time, he wished that he had the connection that she shared with Arcann, or could at least sense how she felt. But even without that, he could see the sadness and uncertainty in her eyes. He could have left her there to be alone. She’d said that was why she was here, sequestered in the quiet of her ship.

Crossing to her chair, Quinn reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. Selirah made a protesting noise, but didn’t resist as he pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff against him for the space of a breath, and then she exhaled and her entire body collapsed against his. Her breathing caught in her throat, and Quinn knew without asking how close she was to losing control over her emotions. He wanted to soothe her, to tell her that everything would be fine. That they would figure out how to deal with Theron’s absence and this catastrophe. But nothing he could say felt like it would help her at all.

His arms tightened around her, and he laid his cheek against the top of her head, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. Quinn wanted to fix everything; to find a solution that would take the weight off her shoulders and ease the stress that Selirah was under.

Instead, he remained silent and gave her the quiet she’d sought, without leaving her alone to face it by herself. Slowly, her hands slid around his waist, and she held him as tightly as he was holding her, seeking comfort in his arms as they stood in the cockpit of the Fury.


	26. Teasing (Selirah/Theron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment together, late at night.

The light from the terminal below the platform the bed sat upon glowed softly, illuminating part of the room. Arcann was soundly sleeping, his cybernetic hand tucked under the pillow and his right arm thrown over his face, but Selirah could see the light of the terminal, and hear Theron's glass clink every time he took a drink. She slid out of the bed, walking barefoot down the stairs, sitting down on the back of the couch behind Theron's chair. 

“Can't sleep,” Theron said unnecessarily, his eyes flickering over the rapidly cycling screens as they flashed open into regimented rows. “Thought I'd..” He waved at the screen, sipping his drink. 

“I don't know how you and Lana do it. Both of you work too hard.” Selirah leaned forward, twining her arms around Theron's shoulders from behind, her cheek resting against his back. He brought one hand up to touch her arm, stroking her skin absently as he took another drink. She could see the half-empty bottle sitting on the desk; it had been full before they'd all gone to bed. “Not that I don't appreciate everything you do, but you could tone it down somewhat. Everything's not going to collapse if you sleep in or spend a day away from your terminals and all these action reports.” 

“We can't all be elite pampered Sith and royalty, Seli,” Theron replied, turning halfway so she could see the smile on his face. “This stuff isn't fun but it has to get looked at and gone through.” 

“We have an entire base full of qualified people, Theron. It's not all just for you to do. Delegate,” she replied lightly, her fingers sliding into the neckline of his shirt, tracing the line of his collarbone. 

“I delegate. Sometimes.” Defensively, Theron closed a few of the windows layered across the screen, and Selirah snorted rudely, slipping off the couch back and eeling her way onto his lap, plucking the glass out of his hand and sliding it away from him, along with the bottle. “Hey!” 

“That's enough of that. If it's driving you to drink every night like this, it's too much work. Hand off some of it to the techs. They're probably bored, because you never let them do anything.” Theron grumbled something under his breath about bossy Sith, and she grinned unrepentantly at him. “I'm selfish, I admit it. I just want you in bed with us at night, not here staring at a screen. We get little enough time for each other lately. I'm tired of waking up to find you missing. I hate being in that bed without you beside me, Theron.” 

His expression softened, and he wrapped both arms around her, bending to kiss her. Selirah made an appreciative sound in her throat, her fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, lingering over the taste of whiskey on his mouth. She watched his drinking carefully, but didn't usually comment on it. Force knew they all had their vices that they indulged in to get through the day, and she was no exception to that rule. Lately, though.. he'd been drinking more, relying on it to help him sleep. Theron wasn't much for sharing things that were on his mind; it was always a slow process to get him to open up. Tonight, she'd settle for distracting him.

Theron let go of her with one arm, reaching out and flicking the console off. “What do you know? Seems I'm finished for tonight.” He kissed her again, his hand returning to her arm, stroking slowly over the crimson and black of her skin. “When the boss says it's time for bed, it's time for bed.” 

“That's the kind of work ethic that I like to support, Agent Shan,” she answered teasingly, fingers tightening in his hair as she leaned close and bit his lower lip gently. “Now let's get back to bed.” 

“I warn you, we're probably going to wake up Arcann if we go to bed right now, because sleep isn't what I'm thinking about,” Theron warned, a gleam of laughter in his hazel eyes. 

“Not seeing a downside.” 

“Me either, now that you mention it. We don't get enough time for each other.. let's see if we can remedy that situation.”

“I like the way you think.”


	27. Romantic Gesture (Lana/Melisande)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Nox has a surprise for Lana.

“Lana. Lanaaaaaa....”

“-What-?” Lana laughed, turning to face Nox. The throne room was busy and hectic, and Lana had so much yet to do before her day was over. But the sheer fact of Nox coming to seek her out was reason enough to take a break. It was uncharacteristic of the Inquisitor, to say the least, and she was clearly in an extremely good mood.. which was also well worth taking advantage of for as long as the good cheer lasted. “Do you need something?”

“Yes!” Nox was clad in her usual luxurious black robes, her diminutive form shrouded from the top of her head to the boots on her feet. One gloved hand seized Lana's fingers, and Nox turned towards the lift, pulling the adviser after her unceremoniously. “You, specifically. Come with me.” 

“Nox, I can't just... this isn't the best moment... fine, fine, stop dragging me! I'm coming.” Lana gave in with good grace, her smile lingering as they stepped into the lift. Surprisingly, Nox didn't drop her hand in the lift. Instead, she twined her delicately gloved fingers with Lana's, taking a more comfortable, relaxed hold of the other woman. “What's this about? You haven't accidentally killed one of the students, have you? You're suspiciously cheerful.”

“I haven't killed one yet, and before you bring up that incident with the girl from Tattoine, I'd like to point out that I didn't kill her -either-. Close isn't the same as actually dead. I thought she would duck!”

Lana tried to suppress the snicker welling up in her chest, but she failed. Utterly. Far from looking offended, Nox gave her a satisfied, sidelong look as the lift doors opened. She was out the door almost instantly, hauling Lana along with her. As soon as they stepped out into the cantina, Lana knew that something odd was happening. The place was completely quiet, nearly deserted. There were two droids carrying things into one of the side rooms, but there were -no- personnel in the room grabbing drinks, or something to snack on, or playing a game. It was surreal, and incredibly strange. “Nox... What is going on?”

“Come on, just through here.” Nox led her into the room that the droids had gone inside, and improbably, it was lit with small, softly glowing lights placed strategically around the room. A small table sat by a loveseat, but the larger furniture had been cleared out to leave most of the floor open. Music was playing, plates of sweet fruit sat with glasses of chilled wine, and there was a large, neatly wrapped box sitting on the loveseat as well. It was astonishing to realize that Nox had set this up in the first place, and that it was for.. her. 

“What.. today isn't my birthday,” Lana stammered, color rising in her cheeks as Nox turned to face her, one hand shooing the droids out surreptitiously. “I don't understand.”

“It is.. as closely as I could figure given the relative unreliability of all the different registers of time on the many planets we've seen.. the anniversary of the day we met,” Nox answered with a wide, pleased grin. She was clearly feeling extremely proud of herself, and with good reason. Lana was certain that she looked as if she'd been cracked over the head with a Gamorrean axe, and equally certain that was the response the Inquisitor had been hoping to get from her. “So.. happy anniversary. See, you thought I couldn't be … you know..” 

“Normal?”

Nox narrowed her eyes in mock-irritation, but her grin widened a hair. “Exactly! I even got you a present. Open it!”

Lana felt a deep sense of misgiving about the contents of the box, beautifully wrapped with an elegant gold silk fabric and tied with a black leatheris ribbon. Nox's idea of appropriate gifts could be a little skewed at times, and she'd heard the rumors of a holo image that supposedly existed of Darth Marr in a pirate hat, a gift from Darth Nox during a visit to Rishi in their Dark Council days. Settling down on the couch, Lana turned the box, glancing at the Inquisitor as she began untying the ribbon. 

Nox bounced on her booted feet in the middle of the room, her hands knotted together in obvious excitement. The hood that hid her hair from view did little to conceal her blue eyes, wide with anticipation, or the transparent glee written on her doll-like features. Lana lifted the box lid away, setting it down on the couch, and looked inside. She heard Nox crow with laughter as her eyes met the huge, round, startled eyes of a juvenile red-backed gizka. 

The only reason she -knew- it was a red-backed gizka was because of Nox. The spoiled, nasty pair that she kept as companions had bitten nearly everyone on the base at this point, including her. They were sneaky, destructive, and obnoxious in the extreme, and Darth Nox adored them and would not hear the least word of complaint against their behavior. Part of Lana wanted to reject the gift; she had no time for pets, to say the least, and if this thing was -anything- like its parents, it would end up the absolute bane of her existence.

But when she looked at Nox... at Melisande's... face, she saw the nervousness the other woman was trying to hide, and she knew that giving gifts at all wasn't something that Mel took lightly or even did as a rule. And as awful as her pet gizkas were, she loved them enormously. The gift of one of their offspring was such a statement of feeling that Lana could hardly fathom what it must have taken for the Inquisitor to even offer the little creature to her. There was no refusing such a gift, and the more she thought about it, the more romantic it seemed. “Mel, is this one from your two gizkas?” 

“Yes.. I think it may be their last, or next to last, offspring. They're getting old, you know,” Nox answered, and this time, her smile faltered slightly. 

Lana remembered another rumor, one that she'd actually known to be true, because she'd been present to see it personally. Darth Marr had taken care of the male gizka of the pair, Melisande's favorite, when they were on Yavin Four. Every time Melisande was out in the field, the surly creature had trailed Darth Marr around the camp, and Lana had even seen him with it tucked under one massive arm, carrying it as if it was an every day occurrence. No one had dared remark upon it, and Melisande had just marched back into camp each time and scooped up the gizka from Marr's care. The value of the gift, in light of the link it had to the only person Melisande had ever had a bond with other than Lana, was incalculable.

“Thank you, Mel.” Lana smiled, picking up the little creature, its huge eyes dominating the oversized dark head. Surprisingly, it didn't bite her, or even hiss at her as she'd half-expected it to do. It just laid down in her lap with a sigh. “I love it. I know how much they mean to you, and I'm so pleased that you would give one of them to me.”

“Happy anniversary, Lana.” Nox came to join her, handing her a glass of wine as she sat down on the loveseat with the adviser and her lap full of gizka, sliding one arm around Lana's waist. “I love you.”


	28. Reassuring each other (Lyorek/Jaxan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaxan and Lyorek talk about their doubts.

Coming out of his meditation trance was usually a positive experience for Jaxan. When he let his communion with the force fall away, he would come back to himself feeling refreshed, and freed of his concerns.

Today was -not- one of those days.

He'd struggled to even let himself fully sink into the force to begin with, which was unusual. His choice to join the Alliance had felt so simple on Iokath; it'd felt overwhelming, the need to fling himself into action, to be a part of something that inspired him. And as much as he hated to admit it even now, that instant connection that he'd felt to Lyorek had been a huge part of his decision. 

What if it had all been a mistake? What if he'd been blinded by the first link he'd ever felt to someone else? There were other Jedi here, but they were mostly still living by the tenets of the Order, even if they no longer remained under its reach. He hadn't thought about what it would feel like, being under their eyes, their gaze, when Lyorek seemed to take such pleasure in flaunting their relationship (was it even a relationship, whatever this thing was between them?) where they could see it. 

The Zabrak always thought it was funny, of course. He thought everything was funny, Jaxan admitted to himself dryly, letting his meditation slip away, his eyes opening with slow deliberation. 

And as if conjured by his thoughts, Lyorek was there, sitting cross legged, knee to knee with him, his red-ringed gold irises wide, a faint smile curving his lips. “How long have you been sitting there?” Jaxan asked incredulously, suddenly grateful he'd chosen to meditate in his room, rather than in the Enclave.

“Not too long. My left leg's starting to go to sleep, though.” Lyo stretched the offending limb out across the floor, rubbing it with one hand. He was clad simply, in just loose pants and boots, a silky red sash tied around his waist with a careless knot. It took a concerted effort for Jaxan to keep his eyes on the Zabrak's face, and not the geometric tattoos bisecting the muscular expanse his invitingly bare chest. “What's on your mind, Jax? You've been meditating so much lately that I'm starting to feel jealous of your connection with the force,” the Inquisitor complained. 

“As if you'd ever be jealous of anything, or anyone,” Jaxan answered. Lyorek looked startled, and the Jedi sighed. That had come out a little more bitterly than he'd intended. “Don't worry. Everything.. everything will be fine.”

“So it's not fine now, is what you're saying? Jaxan.. you can tell me what's bothering you. I know it might seem like I'm not capable of being serious, but promise that I am. At least occasionally.” Slumping lazily, his shoulders drooping into a curve, Lyorek slid his hands onto Jax's knees, the sharp tips of his nails catching lightly in the loose weave of the Jedi's robes, snagging some of the threads up into loops. “Talk to me.”

“I don't know if I can explain it. It's just a fear that perhaps I've made a mistake. Gone too far. I let myself be guided by how I felt on Iokath, and I thought it was the force guiding me. I'm not sure if that was the case.” Jaxan crossed his arms defensively, looking away from Lyo. “You're not going to understand. For you, being led by emotion is encouraged. Expected. But for a Jedi..”

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” There was no mockery in the quoted words, no laughter, not even a teasing smile. Lyorek's bold coloring did not carry some expressions very clearly, like sympathy, but Jaxan could easily feel the emotion from him right now. It never failed to surprise him how open Lyorek was, how uncomplicated he found it expressing his feelings. It stung, even though that freedom came with a definitive cost. The Zabrak turned his hands upside down, palms facing upwards, and after a moment, Jaxan laid his hands on the Inquisitor's, feeling his fingers curl around his very gently. “I don't need to believe what you believe, just to see that you feel torn. I could tell you that it's not wrong, what you feel.. but that would only make it worse. What do you want me to do?” 

Jaxan closed his eyes, his hands tightening on Lyorek's. “I don't know. I want to feel like I've done the right thing, taken the path I was meant to take. It's just not clear to me that it's the case, no matter how often I try to see what direction I should take.”

Lyorek nodded, then smiled ruefully as he realized that the Jedi couldn't see the gesture with his eyes closed. “You're not the only one who feels that way, Jax. Sometimes I question what I'm doing, wonder if I'm doing the right thing. My idea of what that is may be different than yours, but questioning your path is something that everyone struggles with, you know? No matter what part of your life is weighing on your mind, everyone feels like they've made mistakes, messed everything up. I know for a fact that I make a -lot- of mistakes,” he admitted, his smile widening as he saw a reluctant answering smile touch the corners of Jaxan's lips. 

Scooting so that his knee wasn't quite against Jaxan's, Lyorek moved a little closer, pulling one of his hands free. He brought it up to cup the back of the blonde Jedi's neck, bringing Jaxan's head closer so that his forehead rested lightly against his, cautious of bumping one of his small horns against the human's head. Jaxan was tense against him for a moment, then he heard him exhale softly, and he saw some of the tension leave the taller man's body, his shoulders slumping slightly downwards. 

“You know you can talk to me too, Lyo,” Jaxan said, his voice soft. “I know who you are, and it doesn't change what I think about you, or feel. I'll talk to you about what worries me, if you'll tell me your concerns.”

Lyo's fingers twined with Jaxan's, his other hand loosely resting on the Jedi's nape, sharp-nailed fingers combing lightly through his blonde hair. “Sounds like a fair deal to me. Jaxan.. you're not a bad Jedi. Don't doubt yourself.”

“I'll try.”


	29. Another Character's View of Their Relationship (Kallyn, Jedi Knight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallyn receives a note, and reflects upon her absent friend and his new companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt kicked me in the throat and I could NOT get past it. The last one I think will be pretty easy (she says almost a month after she should have finished it lol), but this one just stuck me so badly. 
> 
> I want to thank Tishina for her help in getting me around the Lego block I kept stepping on, because her suggestion was spot-on. It was hugely helpful and I appreciate it!

_Master Kallyn, I don't want you to worry about me. Everything is perfectly fine, and I'm settled comfortably with the Alliance. It was my decision, so please respect it. I hope that we can meet again some day, Battlemaster. As friends._

Kallyn curled her fingers around the datapad, reading and re-reading Jaxan's message. Her lips moved silently, following the words. It was a short note, but she could almost hear his voice speaking to her in the quiet of her room. The younger Jedi was so trusting. He didn't understand the implications of the choice that he had made. 

She remembered the handsome, charismatic Zabrak Sith from the fateful day that they had seized him and Theron, brought them to the Iokath base. How easily he had pulled Jaxan to him. There had been something in his face, a piercing, certain type of knowledge, as if he'd looked into her and had seen her weaknesses. Known how to use them against her. He had likely done the same thing to Jaxan, and she felt ashamed that she had left him in that room, thinking he would be fine. She'd lost him that day. It remained to be seen if he was lost to the Order as well.

Pulling him out of the room had been a desperate move, but it'd been too little, too late. Kallyn had seen it in his eyes, in the vast, deepening chasm of yearning she'd felt inside him. She'd tried to talk to him, but the Sith had already found the cracks in Jaxan's defenses and slid into them, whispering half-truths and insinuations that had made the young Jedi unsure. Off-balance.

No.

Kallyn sighed, folding her hands into her lap, the datapad laying on the floor beside her. It was easy to blame Lyorek. Very easy. But there was nothing easy about the situation, or the choice that Jaxan had made. He might have chosen to leave, but perhaps it was where he needed to be. It wasn't for her to decide that for him. She had done things that had been questioned and condemned by the people around her. There had been plenty of times that she couldn't even explain why she'd taken the path that she'd chosen.

Jaxan knew all the stories about her own past, and he'd never said anything to her about it. He'd followed her to Iokath to learn, and he'd chosen her specifically. He could have gone with any other experienced Jedi, and he'd chosen her. There was something in him that understood the complexities that made up other people, and perhaps, Kallyn realized, she simply hadn't actually understood him at all. It was entirely possible that the force had a plan for him, and that he was driven by something that she could not see or comprehend. He was a full Jedi, if young yet. Much like she was young for her position. She would have to trust that he had made his decision with knowledge and foresight. Time would tell if that was the case.

It would also tell if the Sith had changed things for Jaxan, or if Jaxan had changed things for Lyorek instead. She had a distinct feeling that the Zabrak had no idea of how determined the young Jedi could be when he wanted to be, and at the thought, a wry smile curved her lips upwards.

Some part of her wished that she could just act, like Jaxan did, when it came to her own life, but even that brief introspection made her mind shy away from the mental image of the Sith Pureblood who caused such uncertainty for her on a regular basis. This was not about her, or Lord Scourge, or their strange, undefined link to one another. 

It was about Jax.

She lifted the datapad into her lap, her eyes moving over the brief message again. Opening a response, she began to compose a return message.

_Jaxan,_

_There is no question that we are friends. I hope that you know that..._


	30. A Lazy Day In Bed (Lyorek/Jaxan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaxan brings Lyorek some breakfast in bed, and Lyorek is very appreciative of his thoughtfulness.

The lack of light in this section of the Odessen base was Lyorek's favorite part of his room here. Jaxan's room was in the new housing section, and there were windows there, and _light_. Truthfully, when he'd been carousing half the night and sleeping tangled with Jaxan for the rest of it, he didn't want light waking him up. He wanted to lay here, luxuriously ensconced in heavy-woven silk bedding that had been carefully chosen to frame his crimson and black skin in the most advantageous way, sleep till noon, and.. 

Somehow he hadn't noticed that Jaxan was gone. 

Lyorek rolled over onto his back, the sheets slithering over his chest. The room was dark, the faint glow of a single wall sconce providing twilight illumination. He yawned sleepily, giving brief and hastily abandoned thought to getting out of bed to look for the Jedi, but as the idea drifted away like smoke from the Zabrak's sluggish morning mind, the door slid open. Jaxan slipped through, his robe's sleeves pushed up over his forearms and a small tray in his hands. 

“You're awake. I figured you'd still be sleeping... but it doesn't matter. At least you're still in bed,” Jaxan noted with an amused glance, his dark eyes taking in the way Lyorek lay comfortably sprawled, like a napping predator, smooth muscles shifting under sleek skin. 

Lyo was absolutely not above posing deliberately for visual effect; it could be easily argued that the Inquisitor spent most of his day arranging himself to be seen in the most advantageous light and suggestive positions possible. But right now, half-awake, partially clad in silk sheets, and drowsy, the muscular Zabrak was so unintentionally seductive that Jaxan wouldn't have been surprised to find a picture of him in a book, right next to the definition of temptation.

It was difficult to remember what he'd been doing for a moment, but then Jaxan shook off the distraction and brought the tray to the bed, going around to the other side and setting it down over Lyorek's silk-covered hips and waist. 

Lyorek smiled lazily, seeing the awakened passion in the taller man's eyes. “You brought me breakfast? That's marvelous. I'm so tired, though,” he announced, stretching deliberately with languorous ease, flexing his arms and shoulders, his toes pushing downwards, tugging the sheet an inch downwards with the movement. Jaxan's eyes followed the edge of the sheet with helpless fascination, marking the way it was delineating every line of the Zabrak's body, clinging to his muscles and sliding suggestively over the substantial physical proof that perhaps, Lyo was not as tired as he pretended to be. “I can hardly move.”

“The evidence would seem to say otherwise.” The Jedi's tone was dryly sarcastic, but the smile on his lips made it clear that the joke was mostly on him. “You just want me to feed you so you don't even have to exert yourself to lift an arm.”

“That is... true. I confess it.” Red-gold eyes sparkling with humor, Lyorek gave Jaxan an appealingly hopeful look. “And I -am- hungry. It smells good.” 

Jaxan rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but picked up a piece of nearly raw meat, lightly seared on the sides for flavor, and brought it to Lyo's mouth. The Zabrak opened his mouth obligingly, and took the meat, and then also reached up and seized Jax's wrist, keeping it close. The meat disappeared in seconds, and then his tongue flicked over the pads of Jaxan's fingers, tasting the coppery tang of blood and meat on his skin. He kissed each finger before releasing him, the playful, predatory smile on his lips widening at the poleaxed look on the Jedi's face. 

“Stop that, or you're not going to get to finish this food because we'll both be too distracted.” Jaxan laid back down on his side of the bed, watching the Zabrak eat. Lyorek sat up, working his way through the bloody bowl of meat, eating with neat, quick movements, no wasted economy now that he wasn't trying to tease. Lyo pushed a few pieces aside, ones that were too cooked for his own taste, but otherwise made short work of the breakfast that the Jedi had brought for him.

Picking up a piece that looks more heavily cooked than the others, Lyorek set the lap tray down on the floor beside the bed. Offering it to Jaxan, he fed it to him, then knotted a hand in the Jedi's robe, pulling him down for a kiss. “I feel much better now. Revitalized. Thank you for breakfast,” he breathed against Jaxan's lips, feeling the other man shiver in his grip. He rolled Jaxan onto his back, untying the sash around his waist and peeling the robe off him deliberately. “I hope you already had something for yourself, because I'm not waiting for you to go off in search of a snack.”

“I had something before I came back here. Wait, don't you have work to do today?” Jaxan managed, his voice already roughened with awakening desire as the Zabrak's sharp teeth closed lightly on the inside of his hip, making him gasp. 

Lyorek didn't answer immediately. His tongue trailed across Jaxan's belly, punctuated by kisses and the goosebump-inducing caress of his sharp nails down the Jedi's side. One hand pulled the silk sheets up, over both of them, until only Lyo's head with its crown of small, sharp horns was still visible, the rest of him hidden where he lay stretched out between the taller human's legs. “Not today, Jax. I'm not leaving this bed, and neither are you.” 

The only sound Jaxan could bring himself to make in response to the plan was a deeply appreciative groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yessssss.
> 
> Finished. (Better late than never)


End file.
